


Too Cold Outside (For Angels to Fly)

by gracerene



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 25 Days of Harry and Draco, 25 Days of Harry and Draco 2019, Advent Calendar, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Aurors, Bars and Pubs, Bisexual Harry Potter, Blood and Injury, Bonding, Burns, Case Fic, Christmas, Coffee Shops, Creature Fic, Crime Fighting, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Duelling, Gay Draco Malfoy, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Light Angst, M/M, Mating Bond, Mild Gore, Minor Dean Thomas/Ginny Weasley, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Muggle London, Murder Mystery, Mythical Beings & Creatures, POV Alternating, Past Character Death, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Riding, Romance, Scotland, Shower Sex, Switching, United Kingdom, Veela (Harry Potter), Veela Draco Malfoy, Veela Mates, Wing Kink, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 62,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21602251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracerene/pseuds/gracerene
Summary: The Auror Department and the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures are working to create a new division partnering human wizards and Magical Beings in order to more effectively police crime involving any and all classifications of Magical Creature. Auror Harry Potter jumps at the chance to join the pilot programme, but he starts to regret his rashness when he discovers who he's to be partnered with: Draco Malfoy.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 1040
Kudos: 2570
Collections: 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2019





	1. Monday, 1 December 2008

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is completely written, and I'll be posting a chapter a day from now until Christmas! I've always wanted to write an advent fic, and this was quite the adventure! It's definitely different from my usual way of plotting and writing fic, but I had a lot of fun with it, and I hope y'all enjoy! Tags & rating are reflective of the entire fic!
> 
> All the love and mince pies to the wonderful nerdherderette and writcraft for looking this one over for me on such short notice and providing such awesome feedback. Y'all are the best! ♥
> 
> FYI I'm playing fast and loose with what we know about Veela from canon. Basically, I'm making it all up, except when JKR made it up. ;)
> 
> Title is from the song 'A Team' by Ed Sheeran

[](https://imgur.com/LDB7yBw)   
[IMAGE: A man holding a newspaper does a double-take as he walks past  
a red English telephone booth with a snowman in it. Ben Ben is in the background.]

How early was _too_ early to show up for your first day at a new job? 

Draco pondered this question as he sat at a small wooden table in the corner of the enormous Manor kitchen, nibbling on a piece of cold toast slathered with slowly congealing butter. 

Did the answer change when the job was at the Ministry of Magic, for a department that had once tried to send Draco to Azkaban, in a country where he'd been universally reviled before he'd fucked off to Italy ten years ago? His stomach churned, and he threw the toast down onto his plate next to its uneaten brethren. He was too nervous to even keep down a single slice of toast—not a good sign. 

Draco was beginning to reevaluate his decision to return to England.

It had been just over ten years since he'd left in disgrace, right after the horrifying circus of the post-war trials. He'd somehow managed to get off with little more than a slap on the wrist, likely due to Potter's unexpected testimony on his behalf. But his father had been sentenced to Azkaban, his mother exiled from Britain, and their entire family had been fined a truly astronomical sum in reparations—which, given how much money was in the Malfoy coffers, was really saying something. They'd managed to keep the Manor—for all the good that did them—but their home had been all but gutted, its contents sold to help make up the debt they owed society. 

Draco had been _welcome_ to stay in Britain, but he thought it best if he cut his losses. With little money, even less family, and most of his friends dead or already abroad, what more was there to keep him here?

Not to mention the teensy, tiny—almost inconsequential, really—revelation that Draco was not, in fact, one of those pure-blood wizards his family had fought so hard to make the ruling class.

He was a _Veela_.

He'd manifested on his seventeenth birthday, which had been a horrifying revelation for all affected parties—Draco included—given they were in the middle of a war and his family propagated the ideology that Magical Creatures were inferior and should be either subjugated or exterminated. He and his parents had miraculously managed to keep Draco's nature a secret from Voldemort and the rest of the world throughout the duration of the war, but Draco's luck hadn't held much longer than that. His arrest and subsequent holding, pending a formal trial, had been one stressor too many, and his frayed temper had snapped, sending him into full-on Veela _Fury_ right in the middle of the Ministry. 

As if he didn't already have enough strikes against him.

There'd been no avoiding official registry with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures after that, and given that the Creature, Being, & Spirit Registry was a matter of public record, it was no surprise when, not even a week later, the _Prophet_ had been trumpeting the news of Draco's _affliction_ throughout the country. It was just another reason for the public to view him with suspicion and disgust, and most seemed to hold the view that it served him right: Draco Malfoy, the pure-blood bigot whose blood wasn't so pure after all. 

Draco didn't blame them. He'd been telling himself the same thing the moment his wings had burst from his back in an explosion of agony and shame.

So Draco had left Britain and never looked back, accompanying his mother to Italy and, in a truly bizarre turn of events, eventually working for the Italian Ministry as an Auror. Italy's warmer climate was perfectly suited to Veela, and Sicily—where they'd settled—boasted a robust population. Draco wouldn't say anti-Veela bias was non-existent, but the discrimination was certainly less prevelant than in Britain, and the restrictions on Beings holding government jobs was significantly less stringent. More importantly, the Malfoy name didn't have quite the black stain in Italy as it had back home, and without that cloud hanging over him, Draco found himself free, for the first time in his life, to be whatever and whoever he wanted, unencumbered by familial or societal expectations. Certainly his mother still had her opinions, but exile and the separation from Lucius had diminished her, and Draco found it much easier to stand up for his convictions, to stand true to the person he wanted to become.

He'd blossomed in Italy. Even his mother had thought so, telling Draco on her deathbed that it had been her greatest joy in life to finally see Draco settled and happy after all they'd put him through. Draco wasn't quite sure he'd have gone so far as to say he was _happy_ , but he was content at least, and he was hardly going to argue semantics with his dying mother. She, too, had found a measure of peace in Italy, even if the separation from Lucius, the love of her life, had slowly drained her of her will to live—Lucius's death in Azkaban last year had been the final nail in her coffin. Given Narcissa's exile, she'd not even been allowed to return to Britain to attend his funeral and give him a final goodbye, and it seemed to Draco that she'd instead chosen to hasten her own demise so that they could be reunited in the afterlife. There was a part of Draco that resented her for that, for so deeply loving such a flawed man, and for refusing to fight and stay alive, not even for her only son. And now Draco was all alone in the world. An Orphan.

Without his mother Draco had been adrift. Perhaps that was why he'd decided to come home at last, to face the demons of his past in the hopes that closure would allow him to fully move on. He wouldn't have been able to afford to return without a secured position, unwilling to take the gamble that a Malfoy would be able to find decent employment in a country that despised him. It had come as a shock when the British Ministry of Magic reached out to him first, practically begging Draco to come and work for them in a truly surreal turn of events.

Apparently they were piloting a new programme, a collaboration between their Auror Department and the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, with the idea of pairing a human wizard from the Auror Department with a Magical Being trained in law enforcement procedures. They hoped that not only would this foster a greater trust and understanding of Magical Creatures within wizarding Britain, but that it would aid in the solving of Magical Creature-related crimes, which historically had one of the lowest solve-rates within the Auror Department. It was all very lofty and aspirational, but the Ministry had run into several issues when it came to filling the inaugural Magical Being role. In Draco's opinion it was hardly a surprise really, given that Beings had been prohibited from serving in any sort of law enforcement capacity in Britain—or at least they had when Draco had left ten years ago. Given the rampant discrimination, most Beings regarded the magical government to be generally untrustworthy, relying instead on their own discreet governing bodies to police disputes within their communities. 

Draco, apparently, was the perfect candidate, even with his incredibly checkered past, and the British Ministry had pursued him doggedly with the desperate hope that he'd agree to sign on. Not only was he a Magical Being and a British citizen, but he also had an extensive background in magical law enforcement that would significantly reduce the time needed to officially launch the programme. Of course, his knowledge was based on Italian protocols, but the Ministry assured him that it was a matter of semantics, and had no doubt that he’d pick up the British way of doing things quickly.

Draco had been wary. The idea of returning to Britain had some appeal, he couldn't deny that. But to work for the Ministry of Magic as an Auror? With a _partner_ , who'd presumably know exactly who Draco was and what he and his family had done during the war? Draco couldn't see how that would end well. Draco had been concerned that it might actually put the programme in jeopardy, having him as their test case, but apparently he was all but their last hope. It was possible they'd need to abandon the project entirely if they weren't able to recruit a Magical Being by the end of the year, finally giving a plausible reason as to why they seemed so bloody keen to recruit Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, to their cause. Still, it was nice to be wanted— _needed_ —and he did feel a particular yearning to return home. So Draco had said yes, reluctantly, and had been told to report to the Ministry of Magic at nine AM sharp on Monday the first of December.

The idea was that he'd spend the first month getting acquainted with his new partner and learning protocol and procedure before the _real_ work began in the new year. It was supposed to be a relatively relaxed first few weeks to ease him and his partner into their new roles, but now, sitting at his table with the large clock on the wall _tick-tick-ticking_ loudly in the silence of the kitchen, Draco felt anything but relaxed. He still had no idea who his partner would be—it wasn't only Magical Beings who'd been hesitant to sign on—and he had no clue what kind of reception to expect. He couldn't imagine it would be positive, no matter what the overly cheerful recruiter had said.

The clock chimed once, indicating it was half past eight, and Draco stood, deciding it was now within an acceptable time-frame to head into work. The Manor had been disconnected from the Floo Network when they'd left Britain and Draco had yet to reconnect it, which meant he'd need the extra time to get through to the Ministry via one of the visitors' entrances. He was already dressed and ready to go, and he paused only to put on his heavy winter cloak and grab his leather satchel before Disapparating.

He appeared at one of the Apparition Points in Muggle London, the location tucked out of sight from the bustling thoroughfare beneath heavy wards. He shivered, the winter air even colder than he'd been anticipating—had winter always been so cold in England?—and he took a moment while he was still hidden away from the Muggles to reinforce the Warming Charms on his cloak before stepping out onto the bustling street. 

He'd been out in Muggle London rarely as a boy, and though he'd become quite familiar with Muggles while in Italy, it was still strange being surrounded by so many of them now. This was his country, the place where he grew up, and yet, it wasn't. The world around him was so unfamiliar. It felt almost impossible that, throughout his entire childhood, this whole other city had been _just_ out of sight. He couldn't help but pity his father for his ignorance and prejudice, for his closed-off mind that had prevented him from seeing the beauty of this foreign world. That had prevented _Draco_ from seeing it. But he was here now, and if he spent too much longer appreciating the sight of briskly walking Muggles on their way to work, Draco would be late.

Draco remained alert as he walked, eyeing the street signs so he wouldn't miss his turn. He'd never used this entrance before, and he hoped his liaison at the Ministry had given him all the information he needed. He was looking for a red telephone booth, and though he knew it wasn't on this particular street, it didn't stop him from scrutinising each box he passed, doing a double-take when he passed a booth that… yes, that was definitely a snowman inside the box, which surely wasn't normal… was it? For all that he was more accustomed to Muggles now, Draco didn't think he'd ever understand them. He shook his head, but kept on walking. He had no time for such nonsense today.

He finally found the street he was looking for and turned onto a dingy side road containing several shabby offices, a pub that looked more East End boozer than smart drinking establishment, and a wall covered with neon-coloured graffiti. Draco took all this in with a wrinkle of his nose before catching sight of the bright red phone booth with an _Out of Order_ sign on the front, and he quickly made his way into the cramped space. He picked up the phone and took out a piece of parchment, dialing 6-2-4-4-2 as instructed. The moment he'd pressed the final '2', a friendly voice welcomed him, the sound seeming to come not from the phone but from the air around him. 

"Please state your name and business."

"Draco Malfoy. I'm here for my first day of work in the Auror Department."

As he finished speaking, a silver badge popped out of the coin dispenser on the phone with the words "Draco Malfoy, New Employee" written in block letters. The moment Draco picked up the badge, the telephone booth dropped right through the pavement and began to travel through the earth. It was a disconcerting experience, but Draco had expected something of the like, knowing that the Ministry was well-below ground, so he affixed his badge to his robes and settled in for the ride.

Less than a minute later, Draco was stepping into the Ministry Atrium where he was hit by a wave of nostalgia. It was mostly bad, but there were good memories, too. He'd loved coming to the Ministry with his father as a boy, being greeted like a prince and watching people fawn over the powerful Lucius Malfoy. Then again, even those had been tainted by the war and the knowledge that Draco had eventually gained. Now, he couldn't help but wonder what self-serving agenda his father had been furthering on each of those once-treasured visits.

He briskly made his way through security, submitting his new wand for inspection. His old wand hadn't been working well for him even before Potter had snatched it away during the war, as Draco's Veela inheritance had fundamentally altered his magical core. After clearing the routine wand inspection he continued to the Being Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures on Level 4.

Though he was technically an Auror, both the DMLE and the DRCMC had joint supervision over him and his partner. Draco suspected the inevitable power struggle would lead to a lot of future headaches. Draco, as the token Magical Being, unofficially fell more under the purview of the DRCMC, while his partner would no doubt fall under the DMLE. Draco didn't particularly care about the reporting structure at this point, and anything that would ensure that Draco didn't have to walk alone into the Auror Department for the first time since he'd been led through it bound up in an _Incarcerous_ was A-OK in his book.

He was greeted at the door by a cheerful, curvy witch who looked as if she'd only just left Hogwarts. Certainly the enthusiasm in her greeting indicated she hadn't worked in government long and wasn't all that familiar with Draco's past actions. 

"You must be Draco Malfoy! Welcome to the Being Division. I can't tell you how _thrilled_ we all were when Julep told us you'd agreed to take on this role in our pilot programme. The department has been working on this plan for _ages_ , and we were really starting to lose all hope of it ever getting off the ground. And then you appeared, just like an angel from heaven!"

Draco raised a single brow, unsure if he should be amused or insulted by the angel comment. She flushed.

"Oh, I am _so_ sorry, I wasn't even thinking about how that would sound! You must get that all the time, being a Veela."

Draco flashed her a tight smile. "Once or twice." Her expression twisted with guilt, but he waved her off before she could start apologising more profusely. "I believe I'm supposed to be meeting with Julep now"—Draco looked down at the nameplate on the front desk—"Miriam?"

She beamed at him. "Yes, yes you are! She's been _so_ looking forward to meeting you properly. You can go straight in." She gestured to a closed door behind her and to the left. "Your future partner and Head Auror Robards are already there."

The nerves that had somewhat managed to settle came back full force as he gave Miriam a shaky smile. He'd not expected to be confronted with his new partner so soon. He'd thought he'd have more time to prepare. Then again, prepare for what? There _was_ no way to prepare for meeting with a stranger that in all likelihood, hated Draco already, a stranger that would probably, at some point, hold Draco's life in his hands, given the work they were to do together. 

There was nothing for it but to soldier on. Draco could do this. He'd certainly had to overcome harder things in his lifetime. Nothing in that room could be worse than living with Voldemort, the world's most accomplished Legilimens, while trying to keep the fact that he was a Veela a secret.

Squaring his shoulders, he walked up to the door and gave it a firm rap, opening it confidently when a woman's voice called out, "Come in!"

Draco walked into the room and stopped dead in his tracks when he locked eyes with his new partner, who was looking every bit as shocked as Draco. 

Apparently nobody had told Harry Bloody Potter who his new partner was, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to set this 10 years after the war, which would make this December 2008. Conveniently enough, December 1, 2008 was actually a Monday. Thanks, calendar! You're the real MPV.


	2. Tuesday, 2 December 2008

[](https://imgur.com/duccLpp)   
[IMAGE: View of Hogwarts at night with first year students crossing the lake in boats.]

Harry waited at the Hogwarts gate for Hermione, looking down the lane and across the Great Lake towards the castle in the distance. The turrets gleamed in the winter sunlight and a pang of nostalgia went through Harry. He remembered how impressive and mysterious the castle had appeared the first time he'd seen it, looming large in the darkness as he'd sailed across the Great Lake with Hagrid and the other first years. It had been his home, the first one he could truly remember, and though he'd not had reason to return often in the ten years since he'd left, there was a part of him that would always see it that way. 

Home.

Harry was a little jealous of Hermione, whose position on the Hogwarts Board of Governors gave her plenty of reasons to visit, as they had that morning. He scowled. As boring as the thought of serving on the Hogwarts Board sounded to him, it certainly couldn't be worse than his newest assignment. 

"Oh, sorry I'm late!" Hermione said breathlessly as she rushed down the pathway to meet Harry. "Ron just owled and said he got us a table at The Three Broomsticks."

Harry snorted and fell into step with Hermione as they made their way towards Hogsmeade. "What're the chances he'll have waited for us before ordering?

Hermione slanted him a sideways glance, an amused smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "My husband has many wonderful qualities, but patience where food is concerned is not one of them."

"Well, he ought to know our orders by now, so hopefully he'll have put them all in," Harry said with feeling. "I'm starving, and I don't know about you, but I've got to get back to the Ministry in"—Harry looked down at his watch and grimaced—"forty-five minutes."

Hermione made a face: half guilty, half sympathetic.

"I _am_ sorry about the delay. Smith called an emergency meeting of the Governors and demanded we all meet him down here at once, as if most of us don't have careers! Apparently his son—a bloody seventh year—had a run-in with one of the plants in Sprout's advanced Herbology class and was trying to make it out as if Sprout was negligent. Sprout! Thankfully, the rest of the board was in agreement that Smith's kid is clearly a tosser who needs to pay more attention to his professors and dismissed the grievance. Gross misuse of the Board's time, the whole thing was ridiculous." She shook her head angrily, bushy curls whipping furiously around her face and she took a deep breath. "Merlin, it gave me horrible flashbacks to Draco Malfoy and poor Buckbeak!"

Harry's stomach roiled and he clenched his jaw at the mention of Malfoy. He'd not yet shared the good news about his new Auror partner. "Funny you should mention Malfoy."

Hermione turned to him, a look of curiosity on her face. "Oh?"

Harry nodded tersely. "I'll tell you at lunch. Ron'll want to hear, too."

"All right," Hermione said agreeably, though Harry could tell she was dying to know what he had to say. They'd just entered the village and were approaching the Three Broomsticks when Hermione did a funny little hop and looked over at Harry, her face animated. "Oh! And you have to tell us all about your new assignment! I'm so glad they found a Being to partner you with and didn't have to scrap the programme. I think it could be really useful. I'm assuming you met them yesterday? What are they like."

Harry scowled, and Hermione started, her expression wilting. "That bad?"

"We'll see." He held open the door to the pub, sighing in pleasure as a blast of warm air smelling of meat pies and ale greeted them. Harry's stomach grumbled.

It was lunch hour so the pub was packed, but thankfully Ron had snagged them their favourite corner table, and they acknowledged his waving hand with waves of their own as they made their way over to him.

"S'bout time!" Ron said fervently. There were three steaming Butterbeers on the table, and Harry grabbed his gratefully. "I know you've both got to get back to work, so I went ahead and ordered your usuals. Food should be out soon."

"You," Hermione said emphatically, leaning over to grab Ron's cheeks and smack a loud kiss on his lips, "are my _favourite_ husband."

Ron grinned. "Still got top spot? Excellent. I was worried I'd fallen behind in the rankings after last week's laundry debacle." Hermione gave him a severe look, and Ron looked a little sheepish. "Too soon?"

"Too soon," she confirmed with a sigh. Harry winced into his mug of Butterbeer—the laundry debacle had led to Ron sleeping in one of Harry's guest rooms for three days and had been miserable for all of them.

Hermione turned towards Harry, thankfully not lingering on the memories of that recent domestic. "Anyway, Harry has some news to share. Something about Malfoy, and then I want to hear how yesterday went."

"Oo, right, you were supposed to meet your new partner, yeah?" Ron asked. "The Magical Being? What are they? Vampire? Werewolf? Centaur? Mermaid?"

"Technically, neither Centuars nor Mermaids are considered Magical Beings," Hermione replied. "They refused to be in the same classification with what they consider to be "Dark Creatures" such as Hags and Vampires."

Ron made a face. "Can't really blame them there."

"How would a Mermaid even come in to work at the Ministry?" Harry mused

"Magic?" Ron suggested.

Hermione sighed again and Harry laughed, though he quickly sobered. He wished he _had_ been partnered with a Mermaid, even if they were bloody terrifying.

"No, it's worse than that," Harry said heavily. "It's _Malfoy_."

Ron choked on his mouthful of Butterbeer, and Hermione's eyes went wide as she said, in a tone that made it clear it should have been obvious, "How did I manage to forget that Malfoy is a Veela?"

"Well he fucked right off after the trials, didn't he?" Ron said, whisking away the Butterbeer from his face and the table with his wand. "I don't think he's been back to England at all in the last ten years."

"I wonder why he decided to return," Hermione said thoughtfully. "And why on _earth_ would the Ministry hire him as an Auror?"

Harry made a face. "Well, you know how difficult it's been for them to find a Being willing to sign on to the programme. Magical Creatures just don't trust the Ministry, and I can't really blame them. We've only _just_ lifted the ban preventing Beings from becoming Aurors in the first place, and we've yet to actually take a single applicant."

Hermione made a disgusted sound. She'd worked for several years in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures before taking a job over at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She had played a critical role in getting the outdated ban lifted in the first place. 

"Apparently Malfoy's been in Italy this whole time, working, if you can believe it, as an Auror for _their_ Ministry. The DRCMC was facing a lot of pressure to fill the spot or risk their programme being scrapped, so when they found Malfoy, I guess they were pretty desperate. An English-born Magical Creature who's already been working in law enforcement? Not even the Dark Mark was enough to stop them going after him like a Seeker for the Snitch."

"Shit," Ron said, and they all burst into laughter. He'd always had a way of getting right to the heart of the matter.

Madam Rosmerta bustled over then with steak and ale pies for Ron and Harry, and a vegetable soup with a hunk of crusty baguette for Hermione. The four of them exchanged pleasantries for a moment before Rosemerta went off to look after the rest of her patrons, and he, Ron, & Hermione all dug into their lunches. 

"So how was it, seeing Malfoy again? Is he any different?" Hermione asked after they'd made a good dent in their meals.

"Weird," Harry said. He wasn't sure how else he could describe it, the surreality of being confronted with his childhood nemesis after ten years. Malfoy had grown up, filled out, and Harry's second thought upon seeing him—the first being, _holy shit, that's Draco Malfoy!_ —was that Malfoy looked _good_ , like somebody Harry wouldn't mind going home with if he'd been a stranger at a bar. Which had so deeply horrified Harry that he'd temporarily blacked out, and had missed most of their initial meeting. Of course, he'd spent the rest of the day with Malfoy, and this morning, too. He'd be spending the rest of _all_ his work days with Malfoy. 

Because they were partners. 

Harry barely resisted banging his head on the table.

"Whoa, mate, slow down," Ron said during a rare break between bites of pie. "Don't overwhelm us with information."

Harry let out a weary laugh. "I don't know. We've mostly been in a load of meetings about the goals of the programme and our roles, so we've not had much of a chance to talk. He looks about the same—more grown-up, like all of us, I suppose. He seems…" Harry trailed off, not sure how to put into words the strange sense of solidness and maturity that seemed to emanate from Malfoy. It was unsettling, and Harry didn't entirely trust it, but he couldn't deny that there was something about this older Draco Malfoy that made Harry think he might not be a completely horrible person. "He's been perfectly civil so far, and I can't imagine the Ministry didn't do _some_ digging into his background before hiring him, which means he was probably a pretty decent Auror over in Italy."

"But do you think you'll really be able to work with him?" Hermione asked, her expression troubled. "I mean, he's not just some standard colleague you can ignore. He's your Auror partner."

"Yeah, which means you're going to have to be able to trust him with your life," Ron added, looking grave. Ron had only lasted a year in Auror Training before he'd realised he wasn't cut out for that life and quit to join George at the joke shop. Despite Harry's reassurances that he didn't mind and only wanted Ron to be happy, Ron felt guilty for abandoning Harry, and was always the first to worry about Harry's safety. Harry hoped never to be seriously injured on the job, mostly because he knew how much Ron would blame himself if anything were ever to happen to Harry.

Still, he couldn't just chalk this up to Ron being over-protective. Harry had been asking himself those very questions, had barely slept a wink at all last night as he tried to figure out what he should do.

"I know. I talked to Robards about it yesterday after work. He'd not too thrilled about it either, but he said Malfoy's cleared all their tests and checks. He understands my concerns though, and he says he'll back me, whatever I decide to do."

"And do you know what that is?"

Harry smiled wryly. "Not a bloody clue. Part of me wants to call the whole thing off right now—I mean, what are they thinking, pairing me with Malfoy? But…"

"But if you do, you'll basically be putting the nail in the coffin of the whole project," Hermione finished for him, her eyes sympathetic. She'd been one of the people who'd initially proposed the concept for the programme, when she was still with the DRCMC nearly eight years ago, and it had taken that long for the idea to finally gain some traction. If they were forced to cancel it now, they might not get another chance.

"Exactly. And I believe in the programme, and I think it could do a lot of good. I think about all the discrimination Remus went through, and the fact that Teddy, even though he's not even a Werewolf, is still treated with suspicion for being Remus's son. And Remus was a bloody war hero—not every Magical Creature or child of a Magical Creature has that privilege."

"It's not fair."

"No, it isn't. And if I can help change that…" Harry ran a hand through his hair and slumped in his seat. "Honestly, we're supposed to be using this whole month to train and _bond_ as partners. Give Malfoy a chance to learn our protocols, etcetera, without the added stress of working actual cases. So I’m guessing I've got a month to get to know this new Malfoy and decide if he's grown into the kind of person I can trust to have my back."

Ron nodded solemnly. "The fact that he's been working as an Auror is promising at least?" he said dubiously, as if not entirely believing his own words.

"Yeah, assuming he was one of the good ones," Harry said bitterly. "I can name a handful of Aurors in our own department that definitely don't deserve to wear the badge."

Hermione's jaw clenched as she nodded her agreement. Part of her work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been to overhaul their recruitment, vetting, and training process, and well as beef up the protocols for the Department of Internal Affairs. She wasn't well-liked by the Aurors, particularly the older ones who'd been quite happy with the way things had been running for years, corruption and all. But the work she was doing was important— _necessary_ —to implement the kind of measures that made the Auror Department somewhere Harry could be proud to work.

"Well," she said briskly, "In order to be hired, he'd have had to go through the new measures we've implemented in the last few years, including extensive psychological screening."

"So at least he's not a complete sociopath," Ron said with a grin.

"Or he's smart enough to fool the tests," Harry countered glumly.

Hermione gave him a sharp look. "He is not. Malfoy might be intelligent, but he's not _that_ intelligent, and he was never all that good at masking his emotions back at school. I doubt ten years managed to transform him that much."

Ron gave her an incredulous look. "It was enough to transform him into a bloody bird!"

"Ron! That's offensive. He's not a bird, he's a Veela. I don't care how much we dislike him, there's no need to put down an entire species."

Ron winced and nodded. "Sorry, you're right. You know I've nothing against Veela."

She gave him an arch look. "Yes, you're rather fond of them, if I remember correctly. Perhaps we better keep you away from Malfoy lest you promise him our first-born child."

Ron's eyes widened in horror, and Harry and Hermione both burst into laughter.

"Yeah, you're right," Harry said as their chuckles died down. "I'm going to really try and give this an honest effort, do my best to treat him the way I would any other partner."

Ron snorted. "Good luck with that mate." Even Hermione, for all her encouragement, seemed skeptical.

Harry waved them off. "I said I'd _try_. It's not like I can just forget everything that happened when we were kids, but a lot can change in ten years. I know we all did." They all shared a commiserating glance as Harry continued, "I'll just have to hope Malfoy has, too."


	3. Wednesday, 3 December 2008

[](https://imgur.com/XuLPZ9H)   
[IMAGE: Hogwarts envelope with red seal.]

Draco followed Potter around the Auror Department, doing his best to listen to Potter's matter-of-fact explanations about the three separate boxes where one submitted completed case reports, the proper procedure for filing and requesting logged evidence, and the various other minutiae that were necessary to keep the Auror Department running. It was incredibly boring, but Draco knew it was also crucially important, even more so for him, because he had a feeling the rest of the DMLE wouldn't be cutting him any slack. If he made so much as a single mistake, no doubt it would be found out, and Draco would be reprimanded.

He'd not even been on the job three days and already he was exhausted. It was as if the air itself—so much colder than the Italian weather he'd become accustomed to—was sapping his strength. Draco was keen to blame his newfound fatigue on the constant barrage of animosity emanating from his new colleagues, but he was worried there was more to it than that. He'd spent a lot of time with the Sicilian Veela community, learning about his new biology and how to control his strange new abilities, and the _Matriarca_ had mentioned that, given their more avian characteristics, Veela often did not do well in cold climates, particularly if they did not have a Mate to draw strength from. Draco hadn't paid that bit of information all that much mind—Veela were _obsessed_ with mating and Mates, and viewed Draco's refusal to find one of his own tantamount to sacrilege. He'd assumed, at the time, that this bit of folklore was just another one of their many attempts to convince Draco to find a Mate, but perhaps there'd been some glimmer of truth to the Matriarch's warning. 

Draco scowled. He wasn't going to let a little cold weather defeat him, just like he wasn't going to be cowed by the clear disdain flashing in the eyes of the various Aurors they passed as Potter led them towards their office. Potter, at least, was trying hard to be civil and give Draco a chance, even though it was clear said civility took a lot of effort on his part. Some little piece of Draco couldn't help but find it amusing, though mostly he was just grateful, which annoyed him more than anything. It wasn't comfortable, feeling even further in Potter's debt, but if anybody here had a right to hate Draco it was Potter, and the fact that he was giving this partnership a fair shot told Draco he was mightily desperate for this programme to succeed. So every time Draco felt himself regressing in Potter's presence, the urge to prod and snap nearly overwhelming, he reminded himself that if _Potter_ was able to act like a mature adult, then Draco could, too. 

"So I think that's pretty much everything," Potter said as he opened the door to their office. "I know it's a lot to remember, so just ask if you need a refresher on anything."

Draco followed him in robotically, still disconcerted by Potter's apparent neutrality, and sat down at his desk. It was neat and devoid of any personal effects, contrasting sharply with Potter's desk, which was a riot of parchment, bitten-off quills, various baubles, and picture frames filled with smiling, laughing faces. It made Draco's chest ache, the sight of Potter surrounded, as he'd always seemed to be, by friends and a family of sorts, while Draco hadn't ever felt so alone. On the wall behind Potter was what appeared to be a framed Hogwarts envelope, like the kind that had held the Hogwarts Acceptance Letter sent out to eleven-year-old witches and wizards across the country every summer. Draco wondered if it was Potter's original letter, if he'd kept it all these years the way Draco had kept his, in the emerald green lacquer and gold-gilt box where he'd kept all his treasures as a child. Another pang went through him as he wondered what had become of that box full of useless memorabilia and knick-knacks. No doubt it had been emptied and sold off with the rest of Manor's contents.

Draco told himself it was no great loss, that they were just things, things he hadn't even thought about in years, meaningless clutter when what really mattered were the memories. He knew it was true, but it didn't stop him from feeling their loss, even more keenly than the far more ostentatious and expensive items that had been auctioned off after the war. But what use did Draco have for fourteen grand dining room sets when it was only him at mealtimes? The little table he'd set up in the corner of the kitchen was just fine, and he imagined it would continue to be so until he managed to properly put the Manor up for sale. That, too, put his insides through the ringer, the very thought anathema to him—but what else could he do? It was too much work to maintain for just one wizard, and one with very little money to his name, at that. 

His mother had managed to set aside enough Galleons in a personal account to see herself and Draco quite comfortably settled in Sicily, at one of the few properties that had been purchased under her maiden name and thus not subject to the Ministry's reparations. But even with Draco's Auror salary—and the very generous increase he'd managed to negotiate for his newest role—the money was beginning to run out, the cost of the Manor's upkeep a considerable drain on his resources. It was painful, the thought of parting with such a large part of his family's history, the place where his ancestors had loved and fought, had been married and birthed heirs and were even buried. But it was also the place where they'd plotted and schemed, where they'd cast Dark Magic and tortured Muggles to death, where the Dark Lord had been revered and come back into power. Perhaps it was better if such a place didn't stay in the hands of a Malfoy. Perhaps with a different family, it could support a brighter legacy.

"Malfoy? Are you all right?"

Draco blinked, his gaze focusing on Potter sitting across from him, looking at Draco with something like concern. It surprised a small smile out of Draco. 

"Yes, sorry, I got lost in my head for a minute. You were saying?"

Potter gave him an inscrutable look, and then shrugged. "I was talking about lunch. Wednesdays are the best days to eat in the Ministry cafeteria because they do a Sunday Roast." Draco raised an eyebrow, and Potter let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, I know, but they can hardly do it on Sunday, can they? Anyway, it's really good if you like roast dinners." He paused, an awkward expression crossing his face before he continued tentatively, "Do you, erm, eat meat?"

"What?" That had not been a question Draco had been expecting. 

Potter looked uncomfortable. "It's just, well, I don't actually know much about Veela, except that you look right terrifying when you're narked off. Kind of… bird-like, so I wasn't sure if…"

It was clear Potter didn't want to accidentally offend Draco—which in and of itself was astounding—and had no idea if he was breaking some kind of taboo by referring to Draco's nature. Draco couldn't help it, he burst into laughter.

"And what?" Draco said between great gasps of breath. "You thought I might eat only lettuce and seeds like some kind Parakeet?"

Potter somehow looked both disgruntled and sheepish. "Well l don't know, do I?! Plenty of people are vegetarians."

"Plenty of _people_ , yes, but I'd wager not a single Veela. We're technically omnivores, though our avian-influenced biology is more similar to carnivorous raptors than any other type of bird. Like most other Magical Beings, a Veela's diet is meat-heavy, generally more so than the average wizard."

Potter looked thoughtful upon hearing this. "Really? Most Beings are carnivores?"

Draco shook his head. "Not exclusively, but the majority of us do consume a lot of meat." He held up his hands, ticking off as he spoke, "Werewolves, Veela, Goblins, Giants. Vampires exclusively rely on blood, of course, and"—Draco's nose wrinkled—"Hags, historically, have a particular fondness for children. Mermaids eat primarily fish, so I guess they could be considered pescatarians, though of course, they're technically classified as Beasts, not Beings. The only one I'm not entirely sure of are house-elves, though I do know they eat far more food than you'd think, given their size."

"Must be something to do with the additional magical energy needed to sustain a Magical Being as compared to a wizard," Potter mused. It surprised Draco, but it shouldn't have. He was so used to thinking of Potter as an oaf who got by on sheer luck, but he knew that hadn't ever been the case. Potter certainly wouldn't have been so successful as an Auror if he wasn't good at his job. Draco would have to remember not to underestimate him and let old prejudices undermine what they were trying to build together.

"Yes, that's the running theory," Draco replied. "For me, as a Veela, I've maintained my abilities as a wizard—though my magical core was irrevocably altered by the transformation—but I now also possess abilities different from what a wizard would be capable of, and my biology has also been altered to something… not entirely human. My taste buds have not only changed, but I also expend more energy at rest than I did before and require a greater amount of sustenance."

Potter appeared fascinated, and ridiculously, Draco's cheeks began to warm under his steady regard. Nobody had ever looked at Draco like that before, like he was the most interesting thing in the room, like his very existence was miraculous. He couldn't help but preen a bit under the regard, a peacock ruffling its vibrant plumage. It was a good thing his wings didn't manifest, because there would have been no hiding his embarrassing reaction. Damn, Potter looked _good_ when he wasn't sneering or, as had been the case over the past few days, doing his best to keep his expression bland and banal.

Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the look was gone, replaced by something shocked and uncomfortable, as if Potter had just realised it was Draco he was looking at like that. Potter glanced down at his watch and made some excuse, scurrying out of the room like he was being chased by a Nundu. Draco sighed.

Still. It was progress.


	4. Thursday, 4 December 2008

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter today! Things are starting to get interesting... :D

[ ](https://imgur.com/BdigF6V)  
[IMAGE: An town square at dusk.]

Harry glanced over at the clock on the wall. It was four o'clock, which meant he only had to sit through one more hour of this training session. It was the latest in a series of trainings (more like lectures) put together to give him and Draco an overview of the various Magical Creatures they might come across in their work. Today's topic was Vampires, and Harry hadn't realised it was possible to make such a (literally) blood-thirsty Being sound so unbelievably dull. It didn't help that the gentleman providing the information could have given old Professor Binns a run for his money when it came to a dry and monotone delivery. Malfoy didn't seem to be faring much better, though Harry had a feeling that was as much from the fact that Malfoy more likely already had a greater understanding of Vampires than their instructor, rather than from the truly mind-numbing quality of the delivery.

Harry was so terrifically bored that when Robards's personal assistant, Iona, rushed breathlessly into the room, urgently demanding his and Malfoy's immediate presence, he was grateful for the interruption, even though he knew her request couldn't signify anything good.

He and Malfoy followed Iona at a brisk clip towards the Head Auror Office, exchanging wary and anticipatory glances that proved they both had the same suspicions. It probably should have surprised Harry how easily they seemed to fall in sync, but he was too filled with curiosity as to what awaited them in Robards's office.

"Potter, Malfoy, thank you for joining us," Robards greeted them as the walked inside, Iona closing the door behind them. Julep, Robards's counterpart in the DRCMC, was present as well. Harry exchanged another loaded glance with Malfoy as Robards continued, "Apologies for interrupting your training, but we're afraid we'll be calling you into the field a little sooner than anticipated."

"There's a case?" Harry asked.

"One involving Magical Creatures, I'm assuming," Malfoy added.

"Correct on both counts," Robards said gravely with Julep standing tense and inscrutable beside him. "A body has just been found in Hogsmeade, the third one in a month. All three victims appear to have been mauled to death."

Malfoy frowned. "Werewolf?" he said, before immediately shaking his head. "No, the full moon's not until next Thursday."

Robards hesitated before continuing. "In addition to the deep lacerations which appear to be the result of some kind of claw or talon, each victim had a number of deep punctures, conical in shape." He grimaced as he added significantly, "There were also extensive burns."

Malfoy blanched, but quickly got his expression under control, clearly having already figured out what kind of Creature were after.

Harry wasn't quite so quick. "Which means…?"

"Veela," Malfoy said grimly. "Conical puncture wounds are likely from the beak, and Veela manifest fireballs when we're angry."

Harry's eyes went wide. He thought back to the one time he'd seen full-blooded Veela back at the Quidditch World Cup, remembering the furious bird-like faces as they'd hurled balls of fire at the taunting leprechauns. 

"Right," he said, still stunned. What were the odds that they'd not only be called out early on a case, but that their case would deal with the very Being Malfoy was the most familiar with?

"So you can see why we thought it best to put you on the case now," Julep said. "Given that you both have been working as Aurors prior to your new roles, we've decided you have the requisite experience to temporarily forgo the rest of your planned training. This is precisely the kind of case the two of you have been brought together to solve."

Harry nodded grimly, though he couldn't entirely suppress the flicker of excitement at the prospect of going back out into the field, even if it _was_ with Malfoy. He supposed Malfoy hadn't been so bad thus far, and there was no better way to test their compatibility as partners then to actually work a case together. 

Malfoy seemed to be of a similar mind, his eyes glinting with excitement as he straightened and looked intently at Robards. "You said a third body was just found? Is the crime scene still active?"

Robards nodded. "Yes. Magiforensics is already on the scene. When I left, they were just finishing up their Magical Signature Sweep so that the rest of the team could start their investigation. If you don't have any more questions, I've got a Portkey here for you both." He held up a white-feathered quill. "I already informed everyone on scene that the two of you will likely be taking lead, so they'll be expecting you.

Malfoy turned towards Harry, his lips quirked into a wry smile. "Shall we?"

Harry nodded, an inappropriate giddiness fluttering in his chest. "Ready when you are."

* * *

Their Portkey unceremoniously dropped them next to a still and silent fountain in a town square on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Malfoy had, of course, managed to land on his feet, and was steady enough to reach out and grab hold of Harry's arm before Harry toppled over onto the hard pavement. Harry shot him a grateful look, a little shocked by the strength of Malfoy's grip as he helped right Harry. Then again, he _was_ a Magical Being, and increased strength and stamina were often one of the perks. He didn't know why the thought sent a pleasant shiver rolling throughout his body.

He glanced around the square, which was surprisingly empty given the hour. Dusk was just starting to fall and the lamps began to flicker on around them, illuminating the streets lined with shops and townhouses. It appeared to be a perfectly normal, if overly quiet, neighbourhood, and Harry wasn't entirely certain why the Portkey had dropped them off here. Perhaps it hadn't been correctly calibrated.

Malfoy gave him a nudge and nodded towards an alleyway perpendicular to the silent fountain. The alleyway had been cordoned off with the familiar blue-and-white-tinged transparent magical barrier used exclusively to denote a crime scene. Bobbing lights spilled onto the pavement at the mouth of the alleyway from where the various Magiforensics Specialists were no doubt hard at work cataloguing everything they came across.

Harry and Malfoy made their way to the alley, the Auror badges pinned to their robes allowing them to pass unencumbered through the barrier. The moment they crossed it, they were hit with the sound of chattering specialists, muttered charmwork, and the hum of diagnostic spells. Cho Chang came over, clapping a hand on Harry's arm in greeting.

"I thought you were on days," Harry said with a grin that made it clear he was more than happy to see her. There were two primary Magiforensic teams, and though they were both excellent, he much preferred working with Cho to Adrian Pucey.

She grinned back at him. " _Technically_ , it's still day," she said with a wink. "Pucey's going to have a fit, but when I heard they were assigning this one to you for your fancy programme's inaugural case… well, I thought you should have the best."

He laughed. "So good of you to think of me." Next to him, Malfoy cleared his throat, and Harry winced. "Right, this is my new partner, Draco Malfoy." Harry was certain Cho knew exactly who Malfoy was, but wasn't sure if Malfoy could say the same. He thought it best not to mention their school connection, regardless. "Malfoy, this is Cho Chang, one of our Crime Scene Team Leaders. She'll be the one coordinating all the evidence collection for us."

Cho gave Malfoy a measured look before nodding at him. It wasn't a friendly greeting, but it wasn't a snub, either.

"A pleasure, Ms Chang," Draco said smoothly. "What can you tell us about our victim and the crime scene?"

Cho snapped to attention, all business. "Based on a visual match to the identification card in the victim's wallet, our body belongs to Justin Folksworth, a twenty-four-year-old wizard who lived in the area. We ran his name through the Ministry's persons registry and found an infraction for insufficient Silencing Charms during quiet hours last June—apparently he and his roommate were throwing quite the party and the neighbours complained. Otherwise, no other run-ins with the law, and we've got him listed as a bartender working in one of the new nightclubs that've sprung up in Hogsmeade in the last several years." Cho wrinkled her nose to show what she thought of that. Harry couldn't help but agree—he associated Hogsmeade with Hogwarts and childhood, and the thought of a modern, noisy nightclub in the magical town seemed discordant to him, but what did he know?

"Has his family been notified?" Harry asked.

Cho shook her head. "No. The initial Aurors on the scene decided to wait for you to make that call."

Harry tried not to make a face. Technically that was protocol, but telling friends and family about the death of their loved ones was one of the worst parts of Harry's job. "Fair enough. Have you got anything useful from the scene?"

It was Cho's turn to try and not make a face, though she wasn't entirely successful. "Magical Signature Trace has already swept the entire alleyway, and there wasn't a speck of wizarding magic to be found, so that won't be of much use to us."

Malfoy nodded. "That's consistent with the working assumption that we're dealing with a Veela attack. That much loss of control would indicate that they were past the ability to utilise traditional wizarding magic, if they possessed any in the first place. Unfortunately, wizards have allowed their anti-Creature bias to limit research on identifying unique markers related to the innate magic of Creatures, so a Magical Signature Trace would likely be useless."

Cho gave Malfoy a thoughtful look, likely surprised by his respectful demeanour and the breadth of knowledge. Harry couldn't help but appreciate it himself, though there was one part… "Wait, did you say some Veela might not possess regular wizarding magic?"

Draco made a face implying that wasn't quite accurate, pausing for a moment as if to think of how best to explain it. "Not precisely. Veela, like all Magical Creatures, are essentially made of magic. Veela are born or manifested—never turned like Vampire or Werewolves—but a Muggle without access to magic would never manifest as a Veela. Because Veela do possess the ability to harness magic, they are perfectly capable of casting traditional spells, but unless they were raised as wizards and given a formal magical education as I had, their "wizarding" magic will likely remain rudimentary, similar to the accidental magic we all cast as children. Magic is a skill, just like anything else, and it needs to be practised and honed. Many Veela, particularly those born into Veela communities, never attend wizarding schools. They learn basic magical control, and will generally have better control of their Veela-specific skills and magic compared to those who are not raised by Veela, but they don't practise magic the way that you or I do."

Harry nodded, and though all he wanted to do at that moment was demand Draco tell him more, —he was a _much_ more compelling teacher than their Vampire instructor earlier that day—he knew it wasn't the time. But, if their killer really was a Veela, and it seemed increasingly likely that they were, then the more Harry knew about them, the better.

He could ask Draco more questions later, but in the meantime he turned to Cho. "What else have you got for us?"

"As soon as we were cleared to use magic, we started taking photos and sweeping the alley for evidence. Based on the scene, we believe that the victim died here—there was no evidence that the body was moved post-mortem. We've been Charming and tagging anything that might be relevant, but I'll be honest, it's not a lot, which is consistent with the last two crime scenes. I don't know if the person we're looking for is lucky, skilled, or if it has something to do with the fact that they might be a Veela, but the scenes have all been as clean as a brand new cauldron."

"Brilliant," Harry said with a sigh. 

Cho gave him a commiserating smile. "If there's anything here, we'll find it. I'm just not sure if there _is_." She ran a hand through her cropped hair and rubbed tiredly at the nape of her neck. "Anyway, we're nearly done now. As soon as we've finished, we'll get back to the lab and start running blood samples and evidence through some of our more sensitive and time-consuming diagnostic spells. I'll get you that information as soon as we have it." She jerked her head towards the back of the alley, where a slim figure was kneeling next to what must have been the body of the victim. "In the meantime, Penelope is examining the body now. She can tell you more about her opinion regarding the time and cause of death."

"Great, thanks, Cho," Harry said, flashing her another warm smile. They'd grown close over the past few years of working together, certainly closer than they'd ever been during their brief and tepid romance at Hogwarts. He was glad his awkward handling of their "relationship" hadn't put her off him forever, as she was a coworker who managed to be brilliant, efficient, and genuinely enjoyable to be around—a magical trifecta he'd come to realise was sadly rare to find in a colleague.

"Yes, thank you Ms Chang. We look forward to reading through your findings," Malfoy added.

Cho didn't seem to know whether that was some kind of snide remark or if Malfoy was being genuine, but before she was able to decide on a reaction, Malfoy had taken off towards Penelope. Harry gave Cho a shrug and a _what can you do?_ smile, and trailed after him. 

"Hello, Harry," Penelope said as they approached, though she didn't tear her gaze away from where she was using a delicate spell to lift the victim's head off the pavement in order to examine the blood pooling beneath it.

"Hello Penelope," Harry replied. "Malfoy, this is Healer Penelope Clearwater, our resident Magical Medical Examiner and Coroner. Penelope, this is Draco Malfoy, my new Auror Partner."

"Yes, a Veela, correct?" Penelope said absently. 

Malfoy frowned, clearly unsure how to react to the straight-forward remark, but that was just Penelope's way, especially when she was working. Harry waited for her to finish with whatever observations she was cataloging, taking a small bit of pleasure in the way Malfoy squirmed with impatience beside him, though he'd clearly decided to take Harry's lead.

Harry took the time to observe the body himself. Justin Folksworth appeared to be in his late twenties to early thirties, with dark hair, light skin, and a muscular build. The clothes he wore appeared to be nice—date clothes, Harry guessed, though perhaps the man was just a sharp dresser. It looked as if he had some sort of facial hair, but between the rather extensive burns and the gaping hole in his cheek, it was difficult to be certain.

 _Mauled to death_ did seem to be an accurate description of what had occurred. The deep rents and slashes in the victim's clothes and flesh were in sets of three—from the Veela's bird-like talons, Harry assumed—and his entire body was covered in burns and singe marks. There were also a number of fist-size holes covering the man's torso in addition to the one on his face, including one right over his heart. When Robards had mentioned conical punctures, Harry had not imagined them being quite so large, though he supposed Veela beaks were much bigger than a regular birds'.

He looked over at Malfoy, who was staring at the body with barely concealed horror. Harry wondered if perhaps Malfoy wasn't cut out for Auror work, if the sight of a mutilated body so discomitted him. Then again, a person _should_ be horrified by what had been done here, and Harry imagined it must hit closer to home for Malfoy, being a Veela himself. 

"Right," Penelope said suddenly, pressing up onto her feet and looking directly at Harry. "Obviously I'll need to do a complete examination before I can rule on an official cause of death, but based on the injuries, blood flow, and my preliminary magical scans, I'd say this"—Penelope gestured with her wand to the gaping hole stabbing straight down into the man's heart—"was the killing blow. The other wounds appear to have been inflicted both peri- and post-mortem."

"That's a lot of rage," Harry said.

"I can't opine on that," Penelope said primly. 

"Right, of course not," Harry replied. "That's our job."

He slanted a glance over at Malfoy who was looking thoughtful and troubled as he asked, "Any estimate on time of death?"

"Again, I won't know for sure until I'm in my lab and can cast a more thorough set of spells, but I'd say sometime last night, likely between…" She trailed off, clearly doing some mental calculations. "Between six PM and four AM would be my guess."

Harry made a face. "That's quite the range."

Penelope flashed him an unimpressed look. "And I'll be able to narrow that down for you considerably once I get him in my lab, but I'm unwilling to speculate on a more specific window until I have the chance to conduct a complete autopsy and am able to analyse the results."

A small smile danced across Malfoys lips, and Harry wondered if perhaps Magical Medical Examiners were the same across the world, always unwilling to commit to a theory or observation unless they had an arsenal of evidence to back them up.

"I've got a few things I want to confirm with Chang, and then I'll be coordinating the removal of the body back to my lab," Penelope told them, tucking her wand away in the holster on her thigh. Her entire body shimmered from the specialised Barrier Spell meant to prevent contamination, and she gave them a brisk nod. "If you want to look things over, now's your chance."

Harry nodded, and she was off, leaving him and Malfoy alone with the body, shimmering specialists flitting around in their periphery like fireflies. 

"You all right, Malfoy?" he asked, realising that Malfoy was shivering violently.

"Yes," he said. Harry could tell he was going for brusque, but his chattering teeth rather ruined the effect. Malfoy made a face, clearly annoyed at his body for betraying him. "Just a little chilly out, it's nothing."

Harry had assumed the shivering was some reaction to seeing the body, but now that he was properly looking, Harry thought it really must be from the cold. Malfoy's fair complexion seemed to have a faint blue cast, though Harry couldn't be sure if that was from the chill or just from the _Lumos Maxima_ that hung above them, illuminating the alleyway. It was cold out, no doubt, but their Auror robes had charms woven into the fabric to help regulate their temperature in any weather, and Harry himself felt perfectly comfortable. But perhaps Malfoy's robes didn't have the charms, or maybe he just was more sensitive to the cold—he had spent the last ten years in Italy, after all—or maybe the charms weren't able to function properly given they were cast with a wizard in mind and Draco was a Veela. 

Whatever the reason, Malfoy wouldn't be much use as an investigator if he was too focused on his comfort, or lack thereof. At least, that was the reason Harry gave himself for why he cast an extra-strength Warming Charm Malfoy's way. It certainly wasn't for the expression of pleasure that rippled across Malfoy's face at the sudden warmth, the surprised and shyly grateful look he shot Harry's way when he realised who'd cast the Charm.

"Right," Harry said briskly, discomfited by the thrill that had gone through him at the sight of Malfoy's beautiful face softening with contentment. "Shall we take a proper look at the scene?"

Malfoy quirked a half-smile at him. "Lead the way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually looked up when the full moon would have been in December 2008, so Draco's comments here are correct according to google! I know how much an out-of-sync moon calendar would have driven you all mad—you're welcome. :D


	5. Friday, 5 December 2008

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You _guys_! I just wanted to let you know that I only have one more chapter—the epilogue—to write! I'm almost done! Hooray! :D

[](https://imgur.com/fJQ9YbD)   
[IMAGE: A snowy street of shops seen through fuzzy, snow-speckled glass.]

A storm had hit overnight, blanketing Hogsmeade, and most of the UK for that matter, in a thick layer of snow. Draco could appreciate its beauty, even as he shivered beneath his Auror cloak while he and Potter visited the shops near the crime scene, trying to determine if anybody had seen anything. He'd had to continuously refresh his Warming Charms, and he wasn't sure if it was because his strength in casting them was growing weaker or that his body was just burning through them more quickly given the excessive chill. He wasn't built for this kind of cold—quite literally—and he was starting to think he'd need to find a long-term solution if he were to stay in England. It wasn't even noon and already he was beginning to flag, the energy he was utilising to keep his body functioning far exceeding what he was able to replenish. There was, of course, one solution he knew of, but he refused to even consider it. 

He'd freeze first.

Unfortunately, that was beginning to look like a very real possibility, as Potter dragged them out once more into the snow.

"I looked into the surrounding businesses, and it looks like this café is open late. It would have closed around nine o'clock the night of the murder," Potter said as they made their way towards a cheerful-looking shop. The sign hanging above the door said _Witch's Brew_ in a lurid purple font next to tiny renderings of a pointed hat and a gently steaming mug.

"Near time of death," Draco said thoughtfully. "Perhaps one of the customers or employees saw something."

Potter grimaced. They hadn't had much luck with anybody they'd questioned so far. "And if not, at least we can get a cuppa and warm up."

Draco nodded vehemently, already looking forward to a hot beverage. He was going to get the largest, sugariest item on the menu. Frankly, he needed the calories.

They started their morning interviewing the victim's flatmate, who seemed more upset over having to work out a way to cover half the rent than the death of his friend. Still, he had an iron-clad alibi, and no apparent reason to want Justin dead, so they'd eventually said their goodbyes and ticked him off the list. From there they'd walked from business to flat to business, hoping somebody would have something useful to tell them, but so far, nothing.

Hot air gusted over them in a shimmering wave of pleasure as Potter pressed open the door to the café, a bright bell tingling overhead. Draco's body gave an involuntary shudder of enjoyment, and he only just managed to stop himself from letting out an indecent moan. _Fuck_ , that felt nice. Potter gave him a strange glance but Draco ignored it, too busy soaking in the balmy temperature and the fragrant scent of sugar and espresso. Potter immediately shed his robes, and sweat began to bead on his temples as if the shop was sweltering. Perhaps that was why he'd had that glint in his eyes as he'd looked at Draco, as Draco's robes were staying firmly _on_. He'd not felt so comfortable in ages.

There were a few customers in line and, as Draco and Potter weren't in any particular rush to leave the café, they joined the queue. Draco looked out one of the large front windows as they waited, taking in the street through the snow-flecked glass. There were a few spruce trees dotting the pavement, their dark-green boughs laden with heavy snow. Awnings and rooftops were similarly encumbered, and the streets were carpeted in a pristine crystalline snow marred by the occasional dirt-speckled footprint and the treds from the wheels of carts and cars as people went about their day. Despite spending many a weekend in Hogsmeade as a schoolboy, this was an area of town he'd never had cause to visit. This was a neighbourhood for residents and it was odd, seeing a place he thought he'd known so well in such a different light. Then again, Draco had plenty of experience with having his notions and ideas being turned on their head; one would think he'd be used to it by now.

An elbow nudged at Draco's side, bringing him back to the present, and he turned towards the register with a smile, immediately deducing that they were up.

"Hello," Potter was saying with a friendly smile. He peered at the barista's name tag. "Nice to meet you, Mariangela."

"Just Mari's fine," she interrupted before he could continue. She made a face. "Manager made me use my full name."

"All right, Mari. I'm Auror Potter, and this is my partner, Auror Malfoy. Do you have a few minutes to answer some questions for us?"

The girl looked at them warily. She couldn't have been older than twenty, pretty and fine-boned, with pale skin and straight black hair that Draco thought must be dyed because her eyebrows and lashes were pale as the snow falling outside. He didn't recognise her, but there was a heavy ring on her finger that bore a marked resemblance to his own family ring, the one he kept in a box at the back of his sock drawer; unable to part with it, but unable to look at it, either. Draco couldn't make out the crest but he'd bet she was a pure-blood, and likely one of the sacred twenty-eight. What she was doing working in a coffee shop was beyond Draco, but then again, a lot of the old families were hit hard with reparations. He'd not been back to England since the trials, and he wondered how many of the pure-blood elite had been reduced to working service jobs. Draco wasn't sure if the thought should fill him with glee or pity, but all he really felt with indifferent. They'd made their beds; nobody knew that better than he.

"Is this about the body they found yesterday?" the girl asked, her eyes wide as they darted towards the direction of the alley where the body had been found. She looked exhausted, dark purple circles staining the skin beneath her eyes, visible even through the thin layer of makeup she'd tried to conceal them with. Draco remembered all too well the sleepless nights he'd spent in the Manor, knowing that the Dark Lord was under the same roof. He imagined this girl must be terrified, aware that somebody had been murdered within spitting distance of the place where she worked every day.

"You heard about that?" Potter asked. Draco suppressed a snort while Mari gave him a disbelieving look.

"This is a small town, Auror Potter. I doubt there's a soul in Hogsmeade who hasn't heard of it."

Potter chuckled, and the sound rolled right down Draco's spine, warming him just as thoroughly as the shop had. His cheeks flushed, and if Potter noticed, Draco hoped he put it down to the toasty temperature.

"True enough. Were you working at all the day before yesterday?"

She nodded, wary once more. "Wednesday? Yes, two to ten. I closed"

"I thought the shop closed at nine?" Potter asked.

Mari appeared to be trying very hard not to roll her eyes. "For customers, yeah. But then there are all the closing tasks. It doesn't always take the full hour, but we were pretty busy Wednesday night and I was working by myself, so I didn't have time to clean and prep for the morning shift until after we closed for business. Didn't get out until five to."

Draco nodded. Before he'd been accepted into the Italian Auror programme, he'd worked a variety of odd jobs at coffee shops and restaurants. To say it had been an eye-opening experience for him would be putting it lightly. It was utterly bizarre to think that he had more experience in this area than Potter. Despite Potter's more modest upbringing, Draco was fairly certain his work as an Auror was the first and only job he'd ever had. Of course, attempting to overthrow a Dark Lord as a teenager didn't exactly leave a lot of time for a weekend job waiting tables.

"You said the shop was especially busy on Wednesday? Any idea as to why?" Draco asked

"It's been busy in the evenings all week, really," Mari said, pushing a lock of inky black hair behind one pale ear. "There's a big Christmas market a few blocks away, closer to the main square. It's open eleven to eleven throughout December. We've been getting a lot of people on their way to or from the market this past week."

"Right, that makes sense. Must be good for sales."

Mari wrinkled her nose. "Yeah, my boss is happy. But it also means we have to deal with a lot more people than we usually do, and they're not all sober."

Draco gave her a commiserating glance. He'd not had to deal with too many drunkards, per se, but a lot of people under the Veela Allure certainly acted as if they were sloshed. The Allure had been the first thing he'd learned to control but it hadn't happened easily, and he'd fended off more than his fair share of unwanted advances.

"That can't be easy," he said gently. Mari shrugged, but the tightness around her eyes and mouth belied her apparent indifference. "Did you experience that at all on Wednesday? Were there any customers who made you feel uncomfortable, or that stood out to you somehow?"

Her brow furrowed. "Do you think the killer might have come in here?"

"We don't know," Potter said, his voice soothing. "That's what we're trying to find out. If there was anything unusual about that night, anything that wasn't quite ordinary, we'd love to hear about it."

Nothing seemed to have particularly stuck in Mari's mind, not even when they showed her a picture of the victim. She'd shrugged and said that he was a regular, but couldn't recall one way or another if he'd come in that night, and after several more minutes of conversation, it was clear that she didn't have anything new to tell them. They ordered their coffees—a regular flat white for Potter and a caramel white chocolate mocha for Draco, in the largest size they had. 

Potter took his coffee from Mari in exchange for his card—Draco really needed to remember to put in an order for some of his own, a process that would no doubt take years—and a promise to send him an owl if she remembered anything else. Draco took his drink and asked a final question.

"Do you know if there are any Veela that frequent the area regularly? Have any ever come to the shop?"

Her lips curled with something like disgust before she caught herself and schooled her expression. Distrust and suspicion sparked in her gaze as she seemed to fully take in Draco for the first time. She would have been young when the papers splashed Draco's status all over the country, but Draco's question must have stirred some long-buried recollection, because it was clear she knew exactly what Draco was now. Knew, and didn't particularly care for it. 

Draco wasn't surprised. If she was a pure-blood, as he suspected, she'd likely have been raised with a similar disdain for Magical Creatures as Draco had been. The more things change…

"Not that I'm aware of," she said curtly. "They mostly stick to their own communities, and when they do come to town, they don't generally have a reason to visit the more residential neighbourhoods."

"Right," Draco said, flashing her a tight smile despite the sudden chill in her demeanour. "Thank you again for your help."

She nodded sharply before turning her back and picking up a rag to clean an already pristine bit of machinery. Draco sighed.

"What was that all about?" Potter asked as they stepped out onto the street. The icy air hit Draco like a physical blow, and he only just managed to stop himself from keeling over on the pavement. He fumbled for his wand, casting a forceful Warming Charm that left him winded, before taking a generous gulp of his coffee, relishing the scalding of his tongue as it warmed him.

"She doesn't appear to be a fan of Veela. Most people aren't. It's always interesting to see which puts people off: my name, or my status." Draco snorted inelegantly. "Usually it's both."

Potter looked like he wasn't quite sure what to say to that, and Draco couldn't blame him. Hadn't Draco treated people and Creatures just as terribly as a child, for similarly baseless reasons? He couldn't fault the people who thought the discrimination he faced now was just desserts, even if it wore at him, a constant tide grinding him down into dust.

"Anyway," Draco began, keen to change the subject. "As I suspected, we won't learn much about the local Veela population unless we go to the source."

"Which we're doing first thing Monday, right?" Potter asked. "I still think we should have gone today."

"Yes, and that's why you've been paired with a Being partner who understands them better than you do," Draco said primly. "Wizarding police showing up to an Aerie unannounced and with no notice would be taken as a sign of aggression. Best case scenario, we'd have immediately lost all possible goodwill and made the investigation that much harder for ourselves. Worst case, we'd have incited an _incident_. Besides, we had to interview the roommate this morning, and we're supposed to be visiting Justin's parents again this evening." The victim's parents had come in first thing that morning to identify the body and had been too distraught to speak with Harry and Draco further. They were planning to visit them later this afternoon after Justin's parents had a little more time to grieve and compose themselves.

Potter grumbled, but seemed to respect the wisdom of Draco's words. "So an Aerie is the proper term for a group of Veela?"

"Technically it means a 'lofty nest'; though Veela are found in many places, we do have a fondness for high ground. Generally, the word is used to identify a community of Veela. You'd think that Veela would be solitary Beings, more like birds of prey, but we actually need and crave companionship, which is why most Veela live in Aeries. There's usually a single Matriarch that the other Veela defer to, though she by no means dictates their entire lives. She acts like a governor of sorts."

Once again, Potters gaze had that ravenous, rapturous quality that told Draco he was hanging on to every one of Draco's words. It was heady, being the focus of all of Potter's attention, knowing that _he_ was the reason Potter's pretty green eyes were sparkling with fascination.

Draco cleared his throat, knowing he'd be flushing if he wasn't so damned cold. "I wrote to the Matriarch of the only Aerie in the UK, up in the Scottish Highlands, _Aingeal Tine_ , to let her know that we'd be calling on Monday."

" _Aingeal Tine_?"

Draco snorted a laugh. "Angel of Fire in Gaelic. Whoever founded the Aerie clearly had a sense of humour."

Potter's lips twitched into a smile. "Will having you there be more of a help or a hindrance?"

Draco beat back the instinctive urge to bristle. It was a good question. "I'm not sure. I'll be able to understand their customs and pick up their idiosyncrasies better than you given my background, and they might be more willing to talk with another Veela, especially we're all but accusing one of them of being the killer." He shrugged. "On the other hand, the local Veela have no cause to love a Malfoy, and Aeries do tend to be a little wary of outsiders, particularly ones with… no allegiances of their own."

"Because you don't belong to an Aerie?" Potter asked.

Draco nodded. It was true, but it wasn't the _whole_ truth.

"It's also winter, and a large portion of their Aerie won't even be there, which might put them on edge and make them feel more vulnerable, so that's something we'll need to be aware of as well."

"What? Why won't they be there?"

"Veela... don't do well with the cold. Like many birds, Veela tend to migrate to warmer climates for the winter."

Potter's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

Draco couldn't help but smile. "Seriously. That's one of the reasons why I was so surprised by a Veela attack. There aren't that many Veela in the UK to begin with, and there are even less right now. The few that would have elected to stay are the ones that can withstand the cold. And if they can do that, then that generally means they've got a stabilising bond, which would make the loss of control we've seen with these murders highly unlikely."

"But not impossible."

"No, Potter, not impossible."

Potter looked slantways at him, seeming to hesitate before saying carefully, "Don't you think that we've moved past last names, Draco?"

That hadn't been what Draco had been expecting, and his step momentarily faltered. He'd never thought he'd earn the right to Potter's first name, and it felt strangely intimate as he said, tentatively, "I suppose we have, Harry."

Harry beamed, and Draco stumbled again, only managing to right himself by grabbing hold of one of Harry's firm biceps. He forcibly pulled his hand away and did _not_ squeeze the hard muscle.

"So you must be pretty stable then, given that you're here alone in the winter?" Harry said. His tone was casual, but Draco couldn't help but feel he was being scrutinised. 

Draco looked straight ahead and hummed noncommittally, hoping that would be answer enough.

He could sense Harry staring hard at him for a long moment, but thankfully he let it go… for now.

Draco had a feeling he wasn't off the hook just yet.


	6. Saturday, 6 December 2008

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of yesterday, I have _officially_ finished with the draft of this bad boy! I'm still working on final edits and beta suggestions for the last chunk, but the draft is done! \o/

[](https://imgur.com/I5uNOa4)   
[IMAGE: A plate of decorated gingerbread men biscuits.]

Harry sighed as he took in the disaster that was the Grimmauld Place kitchen. Every flat surface was covered with mixing bowls and measuring cups, the cupboards and counters dotted with splashes of batter and coated in a dusting of flour and icing sugar. Dean, Ginny, and Hermione were at the large kitchen table, which was laden with plates piled high with biscuits, while Neville and Ron stood arguing vociferously by the hob on whose family recipe for mince pies was superior. It was an argument they had every year, the two of them having agreed (by force) to alternate which of them got to make the pies each Christmas. This year was Neville's turn, a fact he took a little too much pleasure in while Ron sulkily made his mum's not-quite-as-famous-but-still-amazing family recipe for bourbon biscuits instead.

Every December, Luna threw a "cookie" exchange party where every guest would show up with a different batch of biscuits or sweets so that everybody could take a few of everything and go home with a delicious variety. Apparently she'd heard of the idea while travelling through America looking for the Great Jumping Jackalope or whatever it was she'd been searching for at the time, and had immediately decided to implement the custom upon returning to England. What it meant was that each year half the guests inevitably put off their baking until the day of the party, and since Harry's house had the biggest kitchen, they'd all show up bright and early the day-of with ingredients and wine, the lot of them getting sloshed while they argued over who got to make what. Inevitably, they all showed up to Luna's half-pissed and already full to the gills with all the biscuits they'd had to eat to _make sure they got the recipe right_.

Harry's simple shortbread stars were already out of the oven and arranged as artfully as he could manage on a large serving plate, so he joined the others at the table, gratefully taking the large glass of red wine Hermione passed him. Her cheeks were bright red, a sure sign she was well and truly sozzled. She was not a talented baker, a fact she refused to accept with any amount of grace, and every year she attempted a biscuit that was well beyond her meagre abilities. This year it was florentines, the lot of which sat on the plate in front of her in a lumpy, misshapen mess. 

"How're you doing?" he asked her, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice.

"Fine," she answered glumly as she doggedly continued in her attempt to coat the bottom of her Florentines with the bowl of melted chocolate in front of her. The problem she was having was that it wasn't exactly clear which side _was_ the bottom—Harry was pretty sure at least one side ought to be flat, but he certainly wasn't going to point that out to Hermione. "At least I'm not the only one this year having problems," she said.

She nodded across the table to where Dean was struggling with one of his gingerbread men. Dean, being their resident artist, always brought beautifully decorated gingerbread men to the party. He brought them in a box instead of on a plate, because he infused the icing with magic that animated the cookies, much like chocolate frogs. Usually he waited until after he'd finished decorating them to activate the spell, but apparently something had gone wrong with this batch because the second he'd begun icing the first biscuit, the little gingerbread man leapt up and began to sprint across the table. 

Ginny was doubled-over in laughter, and Harry joined her as Dean tried to capture the wiley biscuit, which had leapt off the table and was leading Dean on a merry chase around the kitchen. Even Hermione couldn't help but crack a smile—at least her biscuits were stationary—as she cast a _Stupefy_ at the gingerbread man, bringing him to a sudden stop. 

"All right, mate?" Ron asked with a wide smile, clapping a hand on Dean's shoulder as Dean viciously bit the head off the gingerbread man with a little too much relish.

"Suppose I'm going to need to remake the icing, then," Dean said with a sigh between bites, Vanishing the brightly coloured icing from the collection of bowls on the table. 

"There's more icing sugar in the bottom cupboard in the far corner," Harry told him. "Food colouring's in there, too."

"Cheers, mate," Dean said, before joining Neville in the kitchen to collect the necessary ingredients.

"Here's to making something dead-easy," Ginny said grandly, clinking her glass with Harry's. She'd made cornflake cakes as she did every year, which weren't particularly beautiful—nor technically biscuits—but they tasted amazing and required minimal effort to throw together. While neither she nor Harry were terrible in the kitchen, they didn't particularly enjoy baking, either, and they preferred to stick with the easy, tasty classics.

Ron settled in one of the empty chairs with his tray of dark brown shortbread and a bowl of chocolate buttercream and began to assemble his bourbon biscuits. Hermione glared at the perfect little rectangles—Ron was an _excellent_ baker. 

"So, Harry," she said, likely trying to distract herself from the mess of her own biscuits. "How was your first week with Malfoy?"

"Wait, what?" Ginny interrupted before Harry had a chance to speak. "You're working with Malfoy? As in, Draco Malfoy?"

"Do we know any others?" Harry sighed, wondering how many times he was going to have to suffer through a variation on the same conversation. Perhaps he should make a formal announcement at Luna's party tonight, just to get the awkwardness out of the way. "I started that pilot programme, the one pairing me with a Magical Being, and…"

"And Malfoy's a Veela." Her face screwed up in sympathy. "But he's not been in England for ages. I wonder why he decided to come back."

Harry couldn't blame Ginny for being curious about Malfoy's return—Harry had been wondering about that himself. He knew Lucius had died in Azkaban, and as far as Harry knew, most of the Slytherins Draco had associated with back at Hogwarts had left the country in the wake of the war. Narcissa Malfoy had been exiled, and Harry assumed Draco had left with his mother. There didn't seem to be anything left for Malfoy in Britain except for the long-empty Manor, and Harry wondered what had precipitated his sudden return.

"He came back just for me," Harry said with a dramatic flutter of his lashes, ignoring the sudden flip of his belly at the thought.

Ron snorted. "Lucky you."

"I heard you've been assigned a proper case," Hermione said, her voice tight with concern. "You were supposed to have all month to determine whether you could even work together!"

"Trust me, I know," Harry said. "It's not like we had much of a choice. We could hardly have said no to Robards and Julep when they said they wanted us to lead the investigation."

"I suppose not," Hermione said with a sigh. "But I don't like it."

"What's the case?" Ginny asked.

Harry shot her a _look_. She was fascinated by his work and was always trying to find out information about his cases, despite the fact that she was well aware she didn't have the clearance for it. She grinned at him, unrepentant.

"We're still trying to figure that out," Harry said. "We only just got it Thursday afternoon."

Ginny rolled her eyes at his obvious evasion, but thankfully Ron chimed in before she could push for more. "I know it's still new, but how has it been with Malfoy? Especially now that you're actually working together for real."

Harry hesitated, unsure how to put his feelings on their strange new partnership into words. The fact that Malfoy had already become _Draco_ , the easy way they seemed to fall perfectly in sync while evaluating the crime scene and questioning potential witnesses, Harry's utter fascination with Veela abilities and culture, and the way Draco shared that information with him so willingly, all of it was a jumbled mess in his head; the person Harry was getting to know now was so different from the boy he remembered. True, Harry knew Draco wasn't sharing _everything_ , that there were a few secrets he was holding back, but for some reason, Harry didn't immediately suspect the worst despite Draco's evasiveness. Even Draco Malfoy had a right to some measure of privacy. Harry wanted to know what he was keeping to himself, not because he didn't trust Draco, but because he wanted Draco to trust _him_. Although he'd certainly not forgotten the atrocities Draco had committed as a teenager, Harry was increasingly sure that Draco really had changed, that he'd grown into somebody Harry thought he might actually trust to have his back.

Harry knew it was too soon to trust somebody like Draco Malfoy, that he needed to be cautious. But Harry had long since learned to believe his gut, and his instincts were telling him that he could put his faith in Draco. 

Sometimes, the world really was strange.

Harry shrugged. "Draco's been all right, actually. He's got loads of knowledge that I think is going to come in handy on this case, and so far our investigative styles seem to mesh well together. He seems…" Harry trailed off and took a gulp of wine. "Well, he seems different. Better. I think maybe this might actually work."

"Really?" Ron asked, clearly skeptical. His expression was so similar to Ginny's it almost made Harry laugh.

"Yeah, I know. Nobody's more surprised than me. And who knows, maybe it's all one terrific act, but…"

"You don't think it is," Hermione finished softly. She seemed thoughtful and pensive, though no less cautious.

Harry's cheeks warmed and he shook his head. "No, I don't. My gut is telling me I can trust him." Ginny opened her mouth, clearly keen to protest that, but Harry held up a hand. "I'm not saying I'm giving him the keys to my Gringotts vault, I'm not an idiot. But I'm going to give this an honest try."

"Mate…" Ron began, sounding reluctant but determined. "How do you know this isn't some kind of Veela Allure?" He flushed and cleared his throat, darting a glance at Hermione, who looked amused. "I mean, I was willing to do some pretty barmy things while I was under it, and trusting Malfoy _does_ seem pretty mad."

"That's not how the Allure works," Harry said. He paused. "At least, I'm pretty sure it's not. I'm not like, offering to buy him a boat and prostrating myself at his feet or anything." Though he _had_ been spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about how handsome Malfoy was. Harry didn't _think_ that was the Allure, though—he was pretty sure it was just Malfoy, bloody stupidly handsome wanker that he was.

"I think Harry's right," Hermioned said almost reluctantly, as if she'd have preferred to blame Harry's sudden willingness to trust Malfoy on magic. She brightened. "I'll do some research."

"And I'll ask Fleur," Ron added.

Harry rolled his eyes but didn't bother protesting. He knew they just wanted to make sure he was safe, and if Draco _was_ somehow controlling him with Allure, he wanted to know. Harry was fairly certain that wasn't the case, but he'd be stupid not to check.

"Did you call him Draco?" Ginny asked, her eyes narrowed at Harry as she swirled the last of her wine around her glass.

Harry hoped his cheeks weren't as red as they felt. "We _are_ working together. It seemed silly to keep calling him Malfoy if I'm trying to build a partnership with him."

Ginny looked like she had _opinions_ on this—she had _opinions_ on most everything—but luckily Harry was saved by Dean calling for her from the kitchen.

"Ginny, my love! Light of my life! My flame-haired goddess of—"

"Oh, what have you done?" Ginny called back, fondness overwhelming the exasperation in her voice as she got up to find out what Dean needed from her.

Harry watched as Dean pulled her in for a hug, pressing a loud kiss to her cheek as she laughed. Harry turned away, his chest aching. It wasn't that he was in love with Ginny anymore, not for a long, long time, but he couldn't pretend he didn't want what she had with Dean, the trust and love and intimacy. Harry and Ginny had had it for a short while, but they'd quickly realised they weren't meant to be together, not like that. It had been over eight years since they'd gone their separate ways, and Harry hadn't had a single meaningful relationship since. He'd tried, but none of the women—or men, for that matter—had lasted very long, despite Harry's best efforts. 

Next to him, Ron and Hermione had managed to slip into their own little world, their concerns about Draco momentarily forgotten as Ron gallantly tried to make Hermione feel better about her abysmal biscuits. Everywhere he looked, he was surrounded by happy couples, and he knew Luna's party that night wouldn't be much better. Of their friends, the only other single people were Seamus (who'd made it clear he was thrilled to be playing the field and that monogamy and long-term relationships weren't for him) and Lavender (who'd happily stopped chasing after men when she'd realised there was nothing wrong with not being interested in sex at all).

For Harry it was different, because he _did_ feel sexual attraction and he _did_ want a serious, monogamous relationship. He wanted somebody to come home to at night and share stories of their day. He wanted somebody who'd laugh and shriek when he pressed his eternally cold feet against their shins in bed. He wanted somebody to have ill-advised shower sex with—the kind where reality fell short of fantasy but you didn't even mind the Bludger-sized bruise you got on your forehead from banging into the porcelain tiles, because you were too busy giggling and groping and rubbing off together on the floor, wrapped in a shower curtain.

Harry _maybe_ had some very specific fantasies, but that was besides the point.

Harry wanted it so badly it was a constant ache right below his sternum. He wondered if he'd ever find someone, or if he'd died and saved the world only to spend the rest of his life alone. Even with all the friends in his life and the fullness they gave his existence, sometimes Harry couldn't help but feel the absence of a partner.

He was lonely.

Unbidden, an image of Draco standing on a snowy street corner in Hogsmeade flashed through his mind, Draco wrapped in his maroon Auror robes as his sharp eyes scanned their surroundings, the delicate snowflakes catching in his fine blond hair as the wind ruffled it around his face. Harry wondered what Draco was doing now, if he had any plans for the weekend; Harry hadn't thought to ask. Was Draco lonely, too? Harry didn't see how he _couldn't_ be, being back in England without any friends or family. Didn't Draco say Veela were social creatures? Harry certainly remembered Draco loving the attention back at Hogwarts, always surrounded by people, be they friends or underlings—Harry wasn't entirely sure which term was more accurate. Still, he wondered how Draco was faring now that he'd returned, if he was doing all right, if he was getting what he needed.

Harry shivered in the toasty warm kitchen and firmly did his best to put all thoughts of Draco from his mind. It wasn't any of his business. Just because they were working together, and Harry thought Draco might not be a cowardly, intolerant terror anymore, it didn't mean they were _friends_. It certainly didn't mean Harry had any kind of responsibility for Draco's well-being.

Harry ignored the teensy, tiny little seed that was beginning to sprout in the back of his mind. The one that said that while Harry didn't currently have any reason to care about Draco's happiness, he _might_ like to change that.


	7. Sunday, 7 December 2008

[](https://imgur.com/8HGED0A)   
[IMAGE: A glass dragon figurine.]

Draco had timed his arrival back in England for the weekend before he was due to start at the Ministry, giving himself just enough time to open up the few rooms he'd be using at the Manor and to buy any items or furniture he needed that were absent. He'd not wanted to have too much time to himself, had needed to stay busy lest unwelcome thoughts and memories try to encroach on his consciousness. Work, as anticipated, was a welcome distraction, even more so now that they had a proper case to investigate, but the weekend had loomed, inevitable and imposing.

He'd spent most of Saturday poring over the case files, familiarising himself in particular with the two prior victims and crime scenes that he'd been unable to see in person. Draco now knew the information backwards and forwards, and it was times like this where he almost resented his photographic memory, as there was now little to occupy his Sunday other than to finally start the process he'd been eager to put off as long as possible. 

And so, fortified with strong tea and a full English breakfast, Draco set out to take stock of the state of the Manor. 

His footsteps echoed through the large, empty foyer, the heels of his boots clicking on the imported Italian tile. It was eerie, walking through the cold, dead space, still and silent as a Mausoleum. Better, Draco supposed, than the malevolent, sinister energy his home had hummed with during the war, when Lord Voldemort was calling the shots. But there was a time, if Draco rifled far enough back through his memories, where the Manor had buzzed with a lighter kind of life. Or at least, that was how it had seemed to Draco as a child. Many people would have seen the Manor's pristine and polished surfaces, its gleaming untouchable opulence, as cold and remote. 

To Draco, it had simply been home. 

December had always been his favourite time of year as a boy, a time when Malfoy Manor bustled with even more life and energy than usual. His mother had spared no expense with the decorations, and not a single room had escaped her critical eye. It took a full week to complete the Manor's transformation into a winter wonderland, with Narcissa directing the house-elves to bring that year's vision to life. Fragrant wreaths were hung on every door, fresh garland wrapped around every bannister, and fairy lights winked and twinkled brightly around every window. It was a masterpiece, more resplendent even than Hogwarts in Draco's biased opinion, and he'd never once lost his wonder for it. 

His parents had always had a large social circle of the like-minded, pure-blood elite, and throughout the month of December it seemed as if there was a party every night at some manor house or another—though, of course, the Malfoy Manor ball on Christmas Eve was the most grand of all. If the host of that evening's festivities had children near Draco's age he was allowed to accompany his parents to the party, and the month of December was filled with friendship, sweets, and sleepovers. 

He and Pansy would always sneak away, no matter which house they were at, to watch the adults dance and drink the night away in the opulently decorated ballrooms. They'd pilfer sweets and fancy cheese from the magically refilling platters and hide under expensive tablecloths, admiring the guests' sparkling dress robes and trying to follow along with conversations that went far above their heads. It had been a great game of theirs, talking about how _their_ Christmas balls would be the grandest of them all when they were grown and married, how Pansy would have dress robes made entirely of fairy lights, and Draco would magnanimously allow the children to drink as much hot chocolate as they liked.

Draco's smile faltered—he'd not even realised he _had_ been smiling. The memory was a happy one, so he wasn't quite sure why his eyes had begun to sting with the threat of tears. Perhaps it was the dust he'd stirred by running his hand absently along a window sill. Perhaps it was because he'd not seen or heard from Pansy in nearly ten years, not since the goodbye letter she'd sent him before fleeing England after the war. Perhaps it was because he wasn't quite sure how to feel about the happy, spoiled boy he'd been in that memory. 

There was a part of Draco that envied him his innocence, a part of Draco that hated him for his blissful ignorance. Worst of all, there was a part of Draco that ached at the loss of the future that boy had held as inevitable. He hadn't known then how many people had suffered so that his family could live the way that they did, had no clue of the price he'd be asked to pay, the misery he'd be expected to condone and perpetuate to ensure his family retained their status. Draco wouldn't go back, even if he could, wouldn't trade the knowledge he'd gained and the growth he'd worked so hard for, but sometimes… sometimes he missed the glitz and the parties and the status of it all, even if he knew that lifestyle had never been as innocent as it had seemed when he was small.

Draco tried to give himself some grace. It was Christmastime, after all, a time meant to be spent with family and friends, and for the first time in his life, Draco was completely and utterly alone. Even during that awful, horrible Christmas during the war, Draco had still had his mother and father who, deeply flawed as they were, had never once made Draco doubt that they loved him, not even when he'd sprouted wings and a beak.

But they were gone now, as were the few friends he'd had as a child, either dead like his parents or gone abroad to escape the post-war loathing as Draco had done. He could have tried to keep in touch but it had been too painful, and then it had been too long, and now… now they were just memories. He'd made friends in Italy, of course, some of them quite dear, but they were far away and, in the end, none of those relationships had been strong enough to hold him there. He was adrift, untethered, which, for a Veela, was a dangerous thing to be. There was a small, analytical part of him that wondered if his fate would be the same as the mysterious Veela murderer they were hunting. If his isolation would lead him to snap one day. 

Had it been a mistake to come back?

There wasn't anything here for him, not really, just ghosts and memories that cut him like a thousand _Diffendo_ s, and a Manor that Draco hated yet couldn't bear to part with. 

He came to one of the many parlours his mother had used for entertaining, noting with surprise a large wooden display cabinet against the far wall. Its glass-paned doors hung crookedly open, and Draco made his way towards it, remembering the menagerie of glass figurines his mother had kept there. Draco supposed her prized collection was gone now, sold off in parts, but he was shocked to make out a dusty, shadowy object in the far back corner of the middle shelf. He carefully Banished the dust and Summoned the object, and his eyes prickled as he stared down at the delicate glass dragon that settled into his hand.

He couldn't have been more than four or five when his mother had first shown him her collection, taking special care to point out this very figurine. It had been a gift, she'd said, from his father, to commemorate the birth of their son— of _Draco_ , their own little dragon. He'd puffed up with pride and pleasure when she'd said that someday all those beautiful objects would pass on to him; that one day, he'd have a son of his own to bequeath them to.

His hand tightened around the delicate creature, its glass spines digging into his palms. Nothing had worked out the way his parents had planned. Not their spectacular fall from grace, the loss of their money, freedom, and legacy. Not their sole pure-blood progeny, who manifested as a Veela, turning out not to be so pure, after all. Not that same son realising that he much preferred the company of men over women, and being unwilling to keep that part of himself locked away in the closet 'where it belonged'. There'd be no more Malfoy heirs—what was there to inherit, anyway, besides infamy and disgrace?

Of course, his Veela nature didn't much care about the fact that Draco was set against procreating and unwilling to saddle some unsuspecting wizard with his extensive baggage. The English winter chill had begun to settle into his bones, and try as he might to ignore it, he could tell it was beginning to take a toll on his magic. Without a Mate to draw strength from, Draco's body was working overtime, and he was starting to worry he wouldn't be able to sustain himself on his own for much longer. The longer his magic strained itself, the more the control would begin to slip on his emotional stability, as well. Veela were passionate and volatile. They felt things deeply, which could be as much of a curse as a boon. The Sicilian _Matriarca_ had explained to him the importance of mating for Veela, that it was balance. The bond provided a tether, allowing the Veela to draw strength from their Mate when their emotions threatened to get the best of them. To Draco, it seemed archaic. He didn't care if he was no longer entirely human, that didn't mean he was some beast ruled entirely by emotion. He was done relying on others for his physical and emotional well-being—he'd spent his entire childhood doing that, and look where it got him? No, Draco was determined to make his own choices, to rely on himself alone, and if that meant he had to work a little harder to master his emotions, so be it.

It had been easier to feel that way in Sicily, when the warm Italian sun had allowed Draco the luxury of expending all his energy on his emotional control. The years of practise served him well now, but for the first time, Draco wasn't sure how long it could hold. But how could find himself a Mate, in England of all places, where being both a Malfoy and a Veela would all but guarantee his rejection?

No, the only thing to do would be to move forward. Draco knew he was prone to catastrophising—surely his control wasn't so tenuous as all that. It would be fine. Everything would be fine.

In the meantime, he'd return to his room, and throw a few more logs on the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Often times, when I write a longer fic, the idea will start with one or two super crystal-clear scenes/images/conversations in my head that then evolve into an actual fic. When I was trying to figure out what I wanted to write for this advent!fic and thought of maybe doing something with Veela, I had a really clear image of Draco wandering around the Manor alone all sad and melancholy in the snow. Of course, in my head he had his beautiful Veela wings out and was looking all majestic, which sadly did not make sense when I actually sat down to write this scene... But don't worry, Veela wings are coming!


	8. Monday, 8 December 2008

[](https://imgur.com/R0YWLNR)   
[IMAGE: Close-up of a reindeer attached  
to a small sleigh in a snowy forest.]

Harry supposed he shouldn't be surprised, given what he'd been learning about Veela, that _Aingeal Tine_ was located in the Scottish highlands, improbably nestled along the side of Liathach, a large and majestic mountain. The entire area was, of course, heavily warded to keep out any wandering Muggles, though the location was difficult enough to get to that Harry thought the chance of somebody accidentally stumbling upon it was unlikely. Draco had managed to obtain a Portkey that sent them just outside the perimeter of the Aerie and, after his customary stumble, Harry took a moment to soak in the breathtaking views of the snow-capped peaks surrounding them.

"So, where to now?" Harry asked after he got his fill of the scenery.

Draco grimaced and nodded towards the large reindeer that Harry had somehow managed to miss entirely—not a great thing, for an Auror—which was attached to a small sleigh. 

"What, seriously?"

Draco nodded, clearly even less enthused by the idea than Harry was. 

"As I said, Beings have no great trust of the Ministry—my guess is the Aerie is still a good trek away. This beasty here almost certainly knows where to take us."

Harry grinned. Now that he'd had a chance to get used to it, a reindeer-pulled sleigh ride through the mountains seemed like an _excellent_ idea. Harry held out his hand towards the reindeer, shivering as its cool, damp muzzle nosed at him, probably hoping for a treat. What did reindeer even eat, anyway? He—or, possibly, she, Harry had no bloody idea—really was adorable. Harry turned with a beaming smile towards Draco, who looked momentarily startled before giving Harry an almost-shy smile, then rolling his eyes.

"Before we go, are you familiar with the Clear-Sighted Charm?"

"Is that like the one that makes it so I don't have to wear my glasses?"

Draco shook his head. "No, it's not quite so literal as that. If you don't mind, I'd like to cast it on you before we meet with the Veela." Harry opened his mouth to question him further, but Draco held up a hand with a smile. "I'm getting to the explanation, don't worry. You're familiar with the Veela Allure?"

Harry nodded warily. It had been on his mind a lot since his conversation with Ron, Ginny, and Hermione on Saturday.

"It's one of the first abilities that Veela learn to control when it manifests—wizards don't take too kindly to it, obviously— and since it's illegal to utilise it on a government official, we _should_ be safe." Draco came closer, holding his hand out for the reindeer to nuzzle as he continued, "Well, _I_ will be, regardless—Veela are immune to the effects. But _because_ they're immune, they often let down their guard in their own dwellings, as it does require effort to maintain the shields. I'm not sure how many Veela are currently in residence, but the more there are, the greater the risk of accidental exposure." He turned towards Harry and gestured at his wand. "The Clear-Sighted Charm should prevent you from being affected even if a Veela is intentionally sending out the Allure. The charm generally lasts a couple of hours and it doesn't hurt, though there's a slight cooling sensation along the eye sockets."

Harry's brow furrowed. "You've cast the charm before?"

"Extensively," Draco said, his tone confident and reassuring. "Part of my training in controlling my own Allure involved perfecting the spell."

Harry probably should have felt more wary about letting Draco cast a spell on him, but Draco's reasoning _did_ seem solid and the last thing Harry wanted was to go gaga over a Veela when he and Draco were trying to determine whether one of them was a killer. 

"Okay."

Draco seemed momentarily surprised, as if he hadn't expected Harry to agree so easily, and then his face broke out into a pleased smile. 

"All right, hold still." He took hold of Harry's chin with smooth, cool fingers to hold him steady before waving his wand over Harry's head, murmuring, " _Perspicuitatem_." As Draco had warned, a chill tingled along the area surrounding Harry's eyes, though given how cold it was outside, the marginal decrease in temperature was barely perceptible. It still stood in stark contrast to Harry's chin, which was beginning to warm from the press of Draco's fingertips against his skin. He looked at Draco, their eyes holding for a long moment before Draco coughed and pulled both his gaze and fingers away.

"How does it feel?"

"Just like you said. A bit chilly around my eyes."

"Perfect," Draco said, still not looking at Harry. "In that case, shall we?"

Harry nodded and climbed aboard the sleigh, pressing up against the side so Draco could fit on the seat next to him. It was a tight squeeze, their hips and shoulders bumping together as the sleigh began to move smoothly along the mountainside. Harry's cheeks grew warm—almost as warm as Draco's thigh, snug against his own. Draco's cheeks were similarly dusted with pink, though that could have been from the cold—he'd started shivering again. Harry cast a Warming Charm and reached down for the thick woolen blanket at their feet, tugging it up over their laps. A bit of tension leached from Draco's frame, and the bright smile he flashed at Harry nearly took his breath away.

"Thank you," Draco said. "I'm… having trouble adjusting to the winter weather here." 

Harry suppressed a frown. His years as an Auror had taught him how to recognise when he was being lied to, and those instincts told him now that Draco wasn't telling him the whole truth. But, frustrating as that was, it really wasn't any of his business. Instead, he tore his gaze away from Draco and focused on the passing scenery, the trees and bushes flying by buried under a thick coating of snow.

He wasn't quite sure how much time had passed when the first dwelling peaked out from beyond a distant ridge. As they drew nearer, Harry could make out several other houses clustered along the cliffside, though they all appeared to be empty; no smoke curled from their chimneys, and the windows were all dark. Moments later, they reached two large wrought-iron gates flanked by stone columns directly in the middle of the pathway. As they approached, the gates swung silently open, granting them entry into what Harry had to assume was the Aerie.

It wasn't until several minutes later, when they rounded a bend in the pathway, that Harry saw the first signs of life. Positioned in what Harry assumed was the Aerie's centre was a massive house. It was more like a manor, really, at least in terms of size, though it was much closer in appearance to the Burrow. It looked as if several houses had been merged together, with new homes being built right out of the sides in quite disparate styles. The result was… eclectic, and oddly charming. Harry couldn't help but think that Luna would love it.

"Do all the Veela live together, then?" Harry asked Draco, nodding towards the house. "All the other homes we passed looked empty."

"They are. I told you, most of the Aerie is likely somewhere warmer for the winter. Those that have stayed behind generally move into the Matriarch's house during the colder months. Veela crave community, and with so many of their number gone, they'll want to stick close to those that remain. Plus, it's easier and cheaper to heat a single dwelling, and safer to have everybody living in one place."

"Right," Harry said as the sleigh began to slow in front of the house. There were clearly people— _Veela_ —living there, the entire building fairly humming with life as they disembarked and approach the front door. Before they even finished walking up the steps the door swung open, revealing the tall and graceful form of a woman. She looked to be in her forties—though for all Harry knew, she was one-hundred, as he had no idea whether Veela aged the same as humans—with the flawless skin, fine bone-structure, and silvery hair customary in Veela. 

"Hello, and welcome to Aerie _Aingeal Tine_. I am the Matriarch, and you may call me Aderyn."

"Thank you for allowing us to visit your Aerie, Aderyn," Draco said smoothly. "I'm Auror Draco Malfoy, and this is my partner, Auror Harry Potter. As I explained in our request to meet with you, we're here to investigate a recent string of murders."

She looked at Draco with remote, unreadable eyes that gave Harry the chills. "I know who you are, both of you," she said ominously. "Come inside, and we can discuss why you believe one of my Aerie is this killer you're searching for."

They followed her inside, and Harry wasn't sure at _all_ if things were going well or not. He tried to catch Draco's eye, but Draco was too busy taking in their surroundings. Harry supposed he should be doing the same. They passed three other Veela—at least, Harry assumed they were Veela, based on the pale hair and obvious beauty—who barely glanced at Harry, fixing their gazes on Draco instead. The two females seemed cautious, wary, as if Draco were an Exploding Dungbomb that could go off at any moment. The male seemed more hostile, glaring at Draco with open disdain. Draco pretended not to notice, but Harry saw the clenching of his jaw, the tension in his muscles. Harry wondered if the animosity had to do with Draco's past support of Voldemort, whose anit-Creature agenda had been well known, or if there was something else at play, perhaps whatever it was that Draco had been keeping from Harry. 

Harry grimaced. It appeared as if his resolve to let Draco keep his secrets might soon be put to the test—if it could have potential relevance to their case, then Harry needed to know about it. But that could wait until later, when they weren't being led into a comfortable sitting room to interview a Veela Matriarch.

"Tea? Scones?" Aderyn asked as she settled into a high-back wing chair, the fabric a rich magenta threaded through with gold.

"Yes, thank you," Draco said, falling upon the refreshments as if starved. He had told Harry Veela required more food than the average wizard, but Harry had not yet had much opportunity to observe him eating. As fascinating as it was, Harry could use a fortifying cuppa himself, so he tore his gaze away and fixed up his own mug of tea.

"So," Aderyn said when they'd satisfied the worst of their thirst and hunger. "Tell me about these murders."

He and Draco had discussed beforehand how much they were willing to share, and Harry sat back, letting Draco take the lead as he explained the facts of the case. When he began detailing the wounds the victims sustained and their causes of death, Aderyn lips thinned in obvious distress and displeasure. 

"I do not disagree that these attacks bear the hallmarks of a Veela in the grips of _Fury_ —"

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Harry said. "But could you explain what you mean by _Fury_?"

She gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look, and Draco jumped to reply, "That's what it's called when a Veela loses control and manifests their… more predatory characteristics. The wings, talons, beak, and fireballs, primarily."

"Oh, right, sorry," Harry said, feeling woefully underprepared—the more he learned about Veela, the more it seemed he didn't know much at all. "I wasn't aware it had a proper name. Please, Aderyn, continue."

"As I was saying," Aderyn began frostily, "What you've described does align with how a Veela in _Fury_ would attack their prey, but anybody with a basic knowledge of Veela could surely replicate those injuries. Have you considered that the assailant is trying to _frame_ a Veela for these heinous crimes?"

"Of course," Harry assured her. He and Draco had already discussed that possibility, though Harry thought it incredibly unlikely, not that he was going to tell Aderyn that. "We're following a number of possible leads, one of which is, unfortunately, that these acts _were_ committed by a Veela."

"That may be," she replied, her expression severe, "but it certainly wasn't committed by any of _mine_." She gave Draco a rather pointed and disapproving look. "All of the Veela in my Aerie that haven't left for the season are whole and properly anchored. It would be _highly_ unlikely that any of them would be pushed to lose such control, especially more than once in such a short period of time."

It was clear there was some other conversation happening between Aderyn and Draco that Harry wasn't following, that they were somehow at odds. Harry wondered if it had anything to do with Draco not belonging to an Aerie of his own. Was he _properly anchored_? Whatever it was that was happening between them, Harry was going to be demanding a full explanation from Draco once they got out of there.

"Unlikely, but not impossible," Draco finally replied after a long, tense moment.

Aderyn let out a strange trill of obvious displeasure, but did not disagree.

"I'm sure you can understand our position," Harry said, hoping to help smooth things over. "But we really do need to formally interview you and the rest of your… Aerie. If you are all truly innocent, it will be the easiest way to eliminate you as suspects so we can focus our energies on finding the true murderer."

"Very well," she said, clearly unhappy about it. "But I'm afraid not everybody is available today. A small group went to visit the rest of our Aerie in the Mediterranean for the weekend and won't be returning until late Tuesday night."

"That's all right, we can interview those who are here today, and perhaps we can return Wednesday to interview the others?" When Aderyn hesitated, Harry continued pleasantly, "Or they could come into the Ministry in London, if you'd prefer."

"No, no," she said hurriedly. "Wednesday should be fine."

Harry traded an amused glance with Draco, and a strange little thrill went through him when Draco quirked a small smile in return and gave a subtle nod. This was what he loved about working a case with a partner, those moments of perfect understanding between them, when they were both thinking along the same wavelength in perfect synergy.

"In that case," Harry said, turning his bright smile on Aderyn. "Why don't we get started?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those that are curious, _Perspicuitatem_ is Clear Vision in Latin! At least according to Google Translate, LOL :D


	9. Tuesday, 9 December 2008

[](https://imgur.com/m1xjFEe)  
[IMAGE: Close-up of Christmas tree branches filled with lights and red & gold ornaments.]

Draco stood in the Auror breakroom, fixedly watching as tendrils of golden brown swirled out from the teabag and into the clear water in his cup. The room was blessedly empty, silent save for the steady _tick-tick-tick_ of the clock over the sink. He'd got in early this morning, the oppressive chill of the empty Manor even worse than usual. He glanced at the clock and sighed. Potter would likely be arriving in their office at any moment, and then the inquisition would begin.

It had taken the rest of yesterday to finish interviewing all eight of the Veela remaining at _Aingeal Tine_ , and by the time they'd been taken outside the Aerie's perimeter and were able to activate their Portkey back to the Ministry, it was already half-past six. Exhausted from the long day, Draco had been keen to head home and rest. It was clear that Harry had questions, that he'd picked up on the tension between Draco and the rest of the Veela in the Aerie, but he'd reluctantly agreed to start fresh the next morning. Draco was nervous about the questions Harry would no doubt have for him this morning, and he knew he'd have to tread carefully.

Draco allowed himself to stall for a few more minutes, adding a generous spoonful (or three) of sugar to his tea before leaning against the edge of the counter and taking a large gulp. He looked around the small room, noting that Facilities had decorated for Christmas, somehow managing to cram a small tree into the corner, resplendent with its red and gold ornaments and glowing white lights. No doubt the sight was meant to evoke holiday cheer and general festive positivity, but it only served to sour Draco's mood further, one more reminder that there was nobody for Draco to celebrate the holiday with. 

That he was alone.

Scowling, he left the breakroom and headed back towards his and Harry's office to face the music. As expected, Harry was just shrugging out of his heavy winter cloak and spelling it over to the coat rack as Draco walked in. 

"So yesterday was a bust," Harry said by way of greeting. 

Draco grunted. "Not entirely. Only one of the eight had an alibi for all three murders, and three of them didn't have any."

"Yeah, and one of them was that Jasper bloke, the one who looked at you like you'd kicked his Crup. There's definitely something off about him."

Draco made a face but chose to ignore Harry's clear attempt to fish for what Jasper's issue with Draco was. 

"There's also always the possibility that it's more than one Veela," Draco said, taking another sip of tea. "I asked Clearwater for an analysis on the claw and puncture marks on all three victims to determine if there is any variance. Hopefully we'll hear back from her soon."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, pursing his lips as he settled into his chair. "Yeah. My gut is telling me we're just looking for one person."

"I agree," Draco said, settling in at his own desk and watching Harry. Harry was a fidgeter, especially when he was thinking, and sure enough, it wasn't long before he picked up a quill and began to twirl it between his fingertips. The sight was oddly mesmerising, and Draco forced himself to blink and look away as he continued, "We've also not eliminated the possibility that it's not a Veela at all, but a wizard or some other Creature making it _look_ like a Veela."

"The problem is that we don't have a motive for any of it," Harry growled. "Why these victims? What links them together? And if it _is_ a frame, who has a grudge against Veela?"

 _Who doesn't?_ Draco thought bitterly, but held his tongue. 

"Aderyn should have the list of potential enemies of the Aerie for us when we return on Wednesday," he said instead. "And we've started going through the friends and family of the previous victims, so maybe something will turn up there… If the killer isn't a Veela, it's somebody who's awfully familiar with how Veela attack."

Harry's eyes narrowed in thought as he rubbed the quill against his lips. Draco's gaze was drawn there as if magnetised, fascinated as the delicate white fronds—not unlike his own feathered wings when they manifested, though not _nearly_ as fine—trailed over Harry's full red lips. 

"I've actually got a question about that," Harry said.

"Hmm?" Draco replied, the question taking several seconds to penetrate his brain due to his distraction. When it did, he straightened, his gaze turning wary. "About what?"

"Veela biology. Specifically your biology." Draco's brows rose, and Harry flushed as he clearly registered the suggestive nature of his phrasing. He hastened to add, "Erm, I mean, well, are you a full Veela the way that Aderyn and her Aerie are? Or are you more like Fleur—you remember her, the Beauxbatons Triwizard Champion in fifth year? Her grandmother was a Veela, did you know?" Harry flushed, as if realising he was rambling. "Anyway, since your parents aren't Veela, I'd have thought you'd be more like her: possessing some watered-down characteristics, but otherwise human. Only, from what you've said, it sounds like you're entirely Veela. I suppose I'm just confused."

Draco sighed, beating back his instinctive irritation. It was perfectly normal for Harry to be confused—Draco sure as hell had been when he'd first presented. As much as Draco wanted to icily claim that his status and abilities were none of Harry's concern… well, that wasn't actually true. Harry was his Auror partner, and they had been matched precisely _because_ Draco was a full Veela. Harry deserved to know what his partner was capable of.

"Biologically and magically I'm a full-blooded Veela, exactly like Aderyn and her Aerie, though unlike most of them, I was not born to full Veela parents and was not culturally raised Veela. So even though I _am_ entirely Veela, and the wizarding world sees me as such, because I wasn't raised as one, many Veela don't view me as entirely one of their own, so to speak." Most of the Veela, particularly in Italy, had been perfectly kind and accepting, but there had been a distance there, an "otherness" that Draco had felt amongst them. It had been disappointing, realising that not only was he no longer fully a wizard, but that most Veela viewed him as an outsider as well. Of course, it didn't help matters that Draco wasn't entirely willing to adopt all of their cultural beliefs for his own.

Harry's brow furrowed. "So how does that even work then? If your parents aren't Veela, how can you possibly be a full Veela?"

Draco huffed a wry laugh—that was a question that had haunted him for years. 

"To be honest, it's a complex and confusing process, and there hasn't been enough research done to fully understand how it works," Draco began after a fortifying gulp of lukewarm tea. "Essentially, there is a dominant Veela trait that dictates the deep biological and magical transformations that uniquely differentiate a Veela from any other species, along with other recessive traits that are sort of bundled along with the dominant trait. Those recessive traits can more or less splinter off and be passed along to non-Veela descendants. Things like bone structure, hair colour, a reduced Allure, a particular affinity for air or fire magic, etc."

Harry's eyes were wide as he listened, his expression rapt and entirely unlike his bored countenance when they'd sat through the few Magical Creature seminars the Ministry had put them through last week. Draco wondered if it was because Draco was just a naturally more interesting teacher—which wasn't exactly saying much, given the low bar the Ministry officials had set—or if it was something else that held Harry's attention so completely. Whatever it was, Draco couldn't deny Harry's focus was addictive. He cleared his throat and continued:

"When two Veela procreate, the resultant offspring is almost always a Veela; of course, like wizards and Squibs, there is always a chance the child won't possess the primary Veela marker, though generally they'll at least have some of those secondary characteristics. Similarly, in wizarding lines with a Veela ancestor—which is far more common than one might think—there is always the chance that a primary Veela marker might just show up unexpectedly." 

"Like magic?" Harry suggested with a sardonic quirk of his lips.

Draco was reluctantly charmed. " _Exactly_ like magic. Though who knows, there might actually be a logical rhyme or reason to it; there just hasn't been enough funding to research the particulars. It's still pretty uncommon for a full Veela manifestation to occur without at least one of the parents being a full Veela themselves. Muggle-borns and Squibs, for example, are both far more likely than a Veela born to non-Veela parents."

Harry gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "So how do you know if you have it, this Veela gene? Did you know you were a Veela all through Hogwarts? I'm guessing the abilities take awhile to manifest, because I can't imagine you having the ability to use the Veela Allure and not taking full advantage of it back then." His lips quirked into an amused smile. "And there were definitely a few times you would have hit _Fury_ …"

Draco winced. He wasn't sure if that was entirely true when it came to the Allure—his disdain for Magical Creatures went deep enough that he didn't know if he'd have been able to bring himself to use those powers, not even to his advantage. But Harry certainly had a point about Draco's temper. With how volatile children could be, it was a good thing Veela powers didn't manifest until one came of age, otherwise it'd be a bloodbath. 

"There are signs from an earlier age if one possesses the marker," Draco replied. "But most families don't know what to look for, or even that they _should_ be looking. Mine certainly didn't, and Merlin knows we barely covered Magical Beings at all at Hogwarts. But you're right, full manifestation of Veela abilities doesn't occur until one reaches their magical majority—seventeen—at which point our magical core is strong and stable enough to support a full transformation." Draco barely stopped himself from making a face at this so-called "fact" as he remembered the god-awful pain of his first transformation—his magical core certainly hadn't seemed _strong and stable_ to him. He finished off his tea and continued, "For those who grow up knowing they're Veela, the day of manifestation is a magical and important event, full of feasting and celebration. If you don't even know you're a Veela…" He shuddered. "Let's just say it is significantly more traumatic."

Harry's expression was full of sympathy. No, not sympathy, _empathy_. It was clear that though he couldn't possibly know what it had been like for Draco—waking up on his seventeenth birthday in excruciating pain as his back began to split to make room for his wings, and the bones of his face began to crack and reform in the shape of a beak—he could identify with the singular sensation of realising everything you thought you knew about yourself was wrong.

"I can't believe you managed to keep it a secret for so long," Harry said quietly.

Draco shivered. He couldn't either. How he'd managed to prevent himself from going _Fury_ with zero training and with the Dark Lord and his psychotic followers breathing down his neck, he'd never know. 

"I didn't have a choice."

"No," Harry agreed sombrely. "I suppose you didn't."

Draco shook his head, trying to clear away the unwelcome memories, and groped for a change in subject. "So, what did you think of Aderyn?"

Harry's warm gaze shifted into something analytical as he recalled the previous day's interviews. Draco hated how much he immediately missed it, though he could also appreciate the thoughtfulness of Harry's measured theories as he worked through the various angles of their case.

"I think she was telling the truth when she said she didn't believe any of her Aerie committed the murders." Harry's expression was cynical as he looked over at Draco. "Of course, that doesn't mean she's right, but if they did, I don't think she knew about it."

"She could just be a good actress," Draco said.

Harry huffed a laugh of agreement. "Oh, I'm sure she is—it was clear she'd do just about anything to protect her Aerie. She _definitely_ could have been lying, but I don't think she was."

"No, me neither," Draco agreed, almost reluctantly. It would have been easier if she had been. At least that way they'd have somewhere to focus their investigation.

"Though I couldn't help but notice," Harry said, the casual tone of his voice not fooling Draco for a minute, "that she, and the rest of her Aerie, seemed to have a problem with you."

"Caught that, did you?" Draco said. He tried for lightness even as his stomach churned, and he shivered at the sudden chill in the room. He wondered if he looked as drained as he felt, if he could convince Harry to ask Facilities to turn up the Heating Charms in their office without asking more questions. 

"Was I not supposed to?" Harry asked bluntly. "They weren't exactly being subtle."

Draco ran a hand over his face. "No, I suppose they weren't."

There was a long pause and then Harry said, not unkindly, "I won't deny I'm curious, and if it was just me wanting to satisfy my curiosity I wouldn't press, but—"

"No, no, I get it," Draco interrupted wearily. "You can't exactly ignore it when a house full of potential suspects clearly have an issue with your Auror partner."

Harry appeared almost relieved, as if he really did feel bad about asking Draco to spill his secrets before he was ready. Draco's chest expanded, sending a welcome warmth through his veins. Was it possible that this partnership between him and Harry could actually work? That maybe they might even become something like friends?

His gaze lingered on Harry's teeth biting into his lower lip, and Draco did his best to push away the inescapable knowledge that perhaps it wasn't only Harry's _friendship_ that Draco desired. That was a pathway best not travelled.

"Is it because of Voldemort?" Harry said after Draco remained silent for a little too long. "Because you supported him?"

Draco almost laughed. He supposed that was a perfectly reasonable conclusion to jump to, particularly in the absence of all the relevant facts.

"No," Draco replied. "I can see why you might think that, and I'm sure some of them hold a grudge given my past, but my sin is far more grievous in their eyes."

Harry leaned forward in his seat, his elbows on his desk as he gave Draco his full attention. 

"As you know, I wasn't raised Veela, and there are aspects of Veela culture that… don't align with what I want for my life. They've perceived my refusal to follow their traditions as a rejection of their most sacred truths, which I suppose it is, in a way." Draco shrugged. He wasn't exactly happy about the lack of a warm welcome, but he'd made his peace with it. He wasn't willing to compromise his stance, not even for a second chance at family—he'd allowed his last family to control him, and he wouldn't do it again. "I get some allowance, since I was raised a wizard and therefore am bound to be a little strange… _other_. But the longer I go without submitting to their traditions, the more suspect I become."

Harry was clearly fascinated, but he also wasn't so easily put off. "Specifics, Draco," he said firmly.

Draco sighed and flashed Harry a wry smile. It had been worth a try. 

"A Mate, Harry. They want me to find my Mate."


	10. Wednesday, 10 December 2008

[ ](https://imgur.com/1b3zBSs)  
[IMAGE: Lit-up Christmas village at night showing various food stalls,  
including one that says "Big Pan Foods".]

"What time is our Portkey to _Aingeal Tine_ again?" Harry asked as his stomach growled. It was only half-past eleven, but he was already starving; he was hoping there'd be time to pop out and grab a proper lunch before they had to leave.

"One-fifteen," Draco replied promptly. He looked tired—Harry wasn't sure if he'd seen Draco ever _not_ look tired since he'd returned to England—his eyes bloodshot and his back slumped. It made Harry want to pull him into a hug, made him want to bundle Draco in blankets and set him before a fire with a cup of homemade chicken soup. 

He settled for asking Draco to lunch, instead.

"Great, that gives us plenty of time to head over to the little market they've set up in Diagon—I've been dying to try some of those food stalls."

Draco blinked. "Us?"

Harry willed himself not to blush. "Sure, if you're hungry? Who knows how long we'll be up at the Aerie, so it's probably good to fill up before we go."

"Yes," Draco said almost hesitantly. "All right. Let me just grab my winter cloak."

They walked in companionable silence to the Atrium before talking the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron and making their way into Diagon Alley. Draco was stiff and tense beside him, and Harry thought maybe that, too, was a product of his exhaustion. But then he noticed Draco's guarded expression, the alert way his eyes seemed to take in their surroundings, constantly bouncing from person to person as they passed. Harry wondered if this was the first time Draco had been to Diagon since his return. For the most part they were ignored, though Harry couldn't help but notice they were given a wide berth, a consideration Harry was rarely afforded as the Chosen One. It was clear it was _Malfoy_ they were avoiding, though whether it was because he was Veela or because of the Mark on his arm, Harry wasn't sure. He couldn't blame them for one; the other, he very much could. 

They joined the queue for a stand mysteriously called _Big Pan Foods_. Harry had no idea what kind of food they sold, but based on the massive queue, it must be good. "So," Harry began. He fished around in his brain for some topic that would absorb Draco's attention and distract him from his obvious discomfort. "Tell me more about this Mate thing."

Harry's cheeks immediately grew warm—that had _not_ been something he'd planned on asking Draco about. Not that he wasn't fervently, desperately curious—he'd been frustrated yesterday when Robards had stuck his head into their office demanding an update on their case mere seconds after Draco's intriguing statement about Mates. It had effectively cut their conversation short, and Harry hadn't been able to think of a way to subtly bring the topic back around. Apparently, his mouth had decided to hell with subtle, and thought blurting it right out instead would be a much better approach.

"What?" Draco looked startled, but his expression had lost some of the wary, hunted quality it had sported from the moment they'd stepped into Diagon, so Harry decided to continue with the line of inquiry.

"Well, we were interrupted yesterday before you got around to telling me why all the Veela are so keen on having you find a Mate. Is it like, a predestined thing? I've read"—Harry coughed—"I mean, _seen_ , all those cheesy romances with Veela and Werewolves finding their one true soulmate, but I sort of thought that was a load of rubbish."

Draco gave Harry an amused look that told him he hadn't missed Harry's slip up—he _was_ a trained Auror, after all. Harry shrugged and gave Draco a sheepish grin; everybody needed a guilty pleasure.

"You're right," Draco replied. "The predestined Mate thing is total crap, at least when it comes to Veela. We have just as much autonomy as humans when it comes to choosing a life partner."

"Oh, well, that's good, then." There was absolutely _no_ reason for Harry's stomach to dip in disappointment. He'd already had his full share of prophecies and his fate being decided without his input, thank you very much. Though the idea of having someone who was destined to be his perfect match _did_ sound kind of romantic if he didn't think about the particulars too hard.

Draco's smile was wry. "Quite."

"All right, so if you get to choose the person, what's the big deal?" Harry's expression grew more animated as he looked at Draco, his enthusiasm for the subject growing. "Ooh, is it some kind of permanent bond thing? Once you pick somebody are you stuck together forever?"

"Wow," Draco said, his voice brimming with mirth. "You really do read a lot of those trashy romances, don't you?"

Harry's already warm cheeks grew warmer still. "Oh, stuff it."

"Eloquent," Draco said primly. "But no, to answer your truly ridiculous question, the Mate bond isn't unbreakable. What a horrible thought. In practice, the process of finding a partner isn't really all that different than it would be for you."

Harry wasn't sure why Draco's words made his belly flip. Maybe it was because his own attempts to find a "Mate" of his own had been rather abysmal.

"Okay… so I'm still not seeing the issue. And why are Veela so obsessed with you being in a monogamous relationship if it's no different than a relationship between humans?"

"I didn't say it wasn't different," Draco said with a roll of his eyes. "Just that the process of _finding_ a Mate is much the same. And though most Veela are monogamous, it's actually not completely unheard of to find Veela in polyamorous relationships, though never an open one. Poly Veela are certainly not the norm though, as all parties need to have an equally strong bond with every member of the triad. Veela really are terribly jealous and territorial, so it can get quite messy if that's not the case."

"Oh," Harry said, his stomach squirming uncomfortably. "Is that the issue, then? You want, erm, more than one partner?"

Draco gave Harry a strange look, and then shook his head. "No," he said softly. "That's not the problem."

Harry growled when it appeared that was all Draco was going to say on the matter. "Merlin, it's like trying to get blood from a stone with you. You've _got_ to tell me what the issue is now. I'll die of curiosity!"

Draco actually laughed at that, a bright, tinkling laugh that surely _had_ to be some product of his Veela heritage, because Harry hadn't ever heard such a beautiful sound in all his life. He stared, awestruck by the sight of Draco's face creased with honest pleasure, the winter sun making his fair hair glow like a halo.

"Who knew Harry Potter was so bloody nosy!"

"Pshh, anybody paying attention could tell you that."

They made it to the window of the stall, and Harry groaned at facing yet _another_ interruption, though he really was hungry. He glanced over at the menu board—apparently _Big Pan Foods_ sold various kinds of paella—not exactly what Harry thought of when he heard "Christmas Market", but it did sound bloody tasty. He and Draco both ordered the Seafood and Meat Paella, which came in big white styrofoam cups, before stepping out of the queue. By silent agreement, they decided to return back to their office and eat there, where it was warm and there were no prying eyes.

No sooner had they sat down at their respective desks did Harry open his mouth to demand answers, but Draco beat him to it.

"All right, all right, hold your hippogriffs! Let me take a couple of bites first, and then I'll tell you more about Veela Mates."

"Okay," Harry said, pointing his plastic fork at Draco. "But don't think I won't hold you to that!"

He was still starving, so he took the time to dig in himself, unable to suppress his moan of pleasure at the first bite of soupy prawn and rice. Harry was nearly half-finished with his container when Draco spoke again.

"Veela don't have predestined soulmates, and the Mate bond isn't unbreakable, but it _is_ a bond. There's a Veela ceremony that often goes with it, but that's just window-dressing—the bond itself is more… spontaneous." He absently prodded at the edge of his styrofoam container with the prongs of his fork, making small indents in the spongy material as he continued, "Like so much about Magical Creatures, there's a lot we don't know about how, exactly, the bond is initiated. Wizards haven't deemed us important enough to study, and Veela wouldn't trust wizards enough to let them conduct those studies, anyway. But Veela, of course, have their own beliefs and legends. Essentially, the idea is that if two Veela get together and have a strong enough affinity for one another, and are serious about the relationship, a Mate bond will form. Once it's formed, it needs to be strengthened and nurtured to flourish and reach its full potential."

"Can the bond only be between two Veela?" Harry asked before taking another large bite of paella, hoping that Draco was too absorbed with his own meal to notice Harry dribble all over his desk as he ate.

"No, but it's generally encouraged to keep bonds between Veela, as they'll have a similar understanding of needs. For child-bearing couples, it increases the likelihood of creating more Veela. While it's more common for two Veela to mate, it's not taboo for a Veela to mate with a human or even another Being."

Harry should not have found the fact that it wasn't taboo for Draco to mate with a wizard so very, very compelling. He coughed. "So what exactly does this bond do?"

"Essentially, it balances a Veela. Veela believe that part of our… passionate and volatile nature is because we're incomplete as individuals… unstable. A mating bond connects our essence with another's and brings a Veela's soul into alignment."

"Is that what Aderyn meant when she said all her Veela were properly anchored and unlikely to go _Fury_?"

"Yes," Draco said, his expression twisting with some complex emotion Harry couldn't quite place. "She meant that all of the Veea currently staying in the Aerie are mated, and thus considered whole. I've never been mated, so I can't say for certain, but Veela maintain that a Mate bond helps with the regulation of emotions and it makes it more unlikely that a Veela would lose enough control to get to the point of _Fury_ involuntarily."

"Is that all?" Once again, Harry sensed there was more to the story.

Draco gave him a wry smile. "No, that's not all. The bond also enables a moderate sharing of magical power. Mated pairs can draw upon one another's strength, or rather… it's more like both of their magical cores are magnified to a small degree. A whole that's greater than the sum of its parts."

Harry tapped his plastic utensil against the edge of the styrofoam container. "Could that be relevant in our case? If it _was_ a mated Veela pair that committed these murders, they'd be stronger than the average Veela, yeah?"

Draco wobbled his head back and forth indecisively. "Yes and no? Not to the point where it would make much of a difference in this case. Once a Veela hits _Fury_ , they're difficult to contain, even if unmated."

"You said it's less likely that a mated Veela would be driven to that point, though… Can you think of a scenario that might get them there?"

"Like people, Veela all have different triggers and soft spots. But one thing that would almost always get a mated Veela's wings up would be a threat against their Mate."

Harry grinned. Bingo. "Looks like we've just found ourselves a potential motive."


	11. Thursday, 11 December 2008

[](https://imgur.com/wRiTn2j)   
[IMAGE: Frozen red berries on a tree branch.]

Draco had been staring at the case board in his and Harry's office for what felt like hours, willing his brain to make a connection between their victims. They were all male, all wizards, and all found murdered in the same brutal way within the same small, magical town. But everything else—marital status, socioeconomic background, profession, and age—was different.

He scowled, tearing his gaze away from the board and staring out the faux magical window instead. Today, the view was filled with a tree, its delicate branches laden with bright red berries that were crystallised with frost. Snowflakes drifted past in slow, gentle flurries, and though Draco knew it was just magic, that there was no frozen wonderland just outside their office, he felt cold all the same. 

Harry was currently in the lab with Clearwater, being briefed on what she'd shown Draco earlier that morning before Harry got in—that the victims' wounds indicated that it was the same perpetrator in all three cases—and Draco was grateful for his absence. It meant Draco could cast another Warming Charm—his third that hour—without Harry's sharply observant gaze.

Draco cast the spell, relishing the sudden warmth that kissed his exposed skin. He tried not to worry about the fact that the charm seemed to be wearing off more and more quickly, tried not to wonder if he was just imagining that the air didn't seem _quite_ as heated as it had when he'd cast the same spell yesterday. He'd not even been back in England for a full two weeks! Surely the winter air couldn't be affecting him that quickly.

No, it was just Harry's recent questions about Mates that had Draco obsessing over the subject. Draco had shared quite a lot with him, but not _everything_ , and he wondered how much Harry had begun to put together. Draco had spoke of the bond, the sharing of abilities, but he'd not really touched upon the consequences of _not_ having that mating bond to "complete" a Veela. It wasn't just the evened temperament and greater emotional control. Without the augmented magic from the bond, his body, not built for this cold weather, would be unable to fully sustain itself.

At least, that was the line Draco had been fed, but Draco refused to believe it. Hadn't he survived a winter here after he'd manifested? It had been difficult, miserable, but Draco maintained that had more to do with the war and his desperation to do whatever he could to keep the Dark Lord from finding out his secret. Yes, he'd been weak by the end of the war, his body all skin and bones, his magic shaky, his control so frayed that he'd snapped and gone _Fury_ with the barest of provocations while in Auror custody. But nobody could possibly think to blame that on him not having a Mate, not after everything he'd been through that year.

When Draco had mentioned that very fact to the _Matriarca_ , she, of course, had a rebuttal ready. She claimed that the older Draco got, the more energy his body would burn through, and the more vital a Mate would become. Draco thought this explanation was awfully convenient, and it stunk of hippogriff shit to him. He refused to be threatened into tying his soul to another's, no matter how temporary, not for any reason. 

The thought of letting somebody that close to him—not so much physically, as Draco had been far from celibate these past ten years—but mentally, emotionally, magically… Just the thought made Draco shudder and recoil. He wasn't sure he had it in him to ever trust somebody that much, to allow himself to be so vulnerable. Draco knew exactly what people were capable of, and the thought of becoming reliant on another person for his survival, on needing their magical support just to function… 

A shiver racked Draco's body. No, it wasn't an option.

"Hey!" Harry popped his head in through the open doorway, his hair messy and windswept, as if he'd just come from outside instead of from down in the labs. "I'm running to grab some coffee from a proper coffee shop—I can't take another cup of the Ministry's swill today—and then I figured we could go over Clearwater's information. Did you want to come with?"

Draco heart leapt, and he _did_ want to go with. He was increasingly aware of how attuned he was becoming to Harry, the way he always knew exactly where Harry was in a room, the way he was constantly seeking Harry out. Draco enjoyed Harry's company, liked the way his brain worked, liked that he challenged Draco. Harry smelled good, and he _looked_ good, and he seemed to find the fact that Draco was a Veela to be something awe-inspiring instead of something shameful. He had all the makings of an amazing partner—an amazing _Auror partner_ —and that was all it would be. All it could be.

"I want to finish some work up, actually, but if you wouldn't mind grabbing me something while you're out?"

"Yeah, sure thing." Was Harry disappointed that Draco wouldn't be joining him? Relieved? Did he care at all? Draco couldn't tell. "Large caramel white mocha?"

Draco nodded and gave a smile, stupidly pleased that Harry remembered his order. "Yes, that sounds perfect. With extra whipped cream."

"You've got it. Back in fifteen," Harry said with a grin, brighter than the summer sun and just as warm on Draco's skin. 

Draco couldn't lie—not to himself at least—about his feelings for Harry, the ones that were starting to move beyond platonic. It was impossible not to notice the heat he felt in Harry's presence—not just the metaphorical heat that stirred lust in his veins, but a real, tangible heat that circulated through his limbs, leeching away some of the exhaustion and chill. It was another reason why his feelings for Harry couldn't be trusted. Were they real, or was his biology doing its part to urge him towards the closest warm body, hoping for a Mate bond? He didn't think his nature was actually capable of influencing his own emotions, but he _did_ know that it was capable of influencing others with the Allure. He kept a tight rein on the ability, but it was always there, lurking beneath the surface, and if he really _was_ losing some of his control, who knew how long the barriers he'd placed on it would hold? If, by some miracle, Harry's feelings for Draco were beginning to change as well—and the way that Harry sometimes looked at Draco made him think that they were—how could Draco ever trust that those supposed feelings of Harry's were real? Maybe Harry could forgive Draco enough to work with him, to become his friend, but with their history, surely anything more was completely out of the question.

Which was fine. It was how it should be. Draco had already decided he didn't want a relationship, didn't want a Mate. He'd grown used to ignoring the itch beneath his skin that begged for touch, for love and family and companionship. Those things were beyond Draco, out of his reach, and that was _fine_. 

_He_ was fine.

Really. 

He turned back to the case board and met the accusatory gazes of the three victims. 

They, on the other hand, were _not_ fine, and it was Draco's job to figure out what connected these three men together, what had made them a target. Draco didn't have time to bemoan his loneliness.

He had a killer to catch.


	12. Friday, 12 December 2008

[](https://imgur.com/0STGS8J)   
[IMAGE: People skating on an ice rink in the evening in front of the Tower of London.]

"All right," Harry said, throwing a stack of parchment onto his desk with a frustrated growl. "It's almost five, and if I have to spend another minute inside this office, I think I'm going to explode."

Draco looked both confused and amused. "Okay… have a good weekend?"

Harry shook his head, his cheeks growing warm. "No, I want to talk about this case more, if you don't mind? I feel like there's something we're _just_ missing… but I can't stay here. Getting out and people-watching helps when I'm stuck." Harry found people fascinating, and there was something about watching strangers go about their lives in a way that was so very separate from Harry's that helped him make connections he'd previously missed. He'd got know just about every Muggle and magical neighbourhood in London over the past ten years, exploring somewhere new every time he needed some fresh air.

"There's an ice rink they've set up at the Tower of London that I was thinking of going to," Harry suggested. He loved visiting the temporary kinds of events best—seasonal ice rinks, festivals, markets and the like—as they always drew large crowds of fascinating people. "If you're free, and don't mind a bit more shop talk, maybe you could join me?"

Harry tried to tell his racing heart and sweaty palms that there was no need for him to be so nervous. He was merely asking a colleague out for an informal working session. It wasn't a _date_ , no matter what it felt like. Though it didn't help matters that Draco seemed equally flustered, chewing on his full bottom lip as he hesitated.

"It'll probably be almost entirely Muggle," Harry added, remembering Draco's discomfort in Diagon, surrounded by so many witches and wizards. "There might be a few magical folks around, but most of them prefer going to one of the magical rinks so they don't have to worry about the Statute. And if you're worried about the cold, I can cast a few extra Warming Charms on your cloak. Hermione taught me how to attach the charm to fabric so it lasts a lot longer."

Draco's lips spread into a small, pleased smile, and the sight did funny things to Harry's insides. "Maybe you could teach it to me sometime," he suggested softly. "But yes, if you could reinforce my cloak, I'd be happy to join you."

The giddiness that flooded Harry's veins was entirely out of proportion to Draco's reply, but Harry couldn't seem to help himself. He went over to the coat rack and concentrated, casting the augmented Warming Charm Hermione had taught him after his first miserable stakeout when the Temperature Regulating Charm woven into his Auror Robes had ceased working. He cast the charm twice for safe measure; Draco seemed to get cold enough that if the double casting led to the charm getting twice as hot, he'd likely appreciate it.

When they got to the Atrium, Harry led them away from the Floos and towards the Apparition Point. 

"Since it's a Muggle area, we'll want to pop in to the closest Apparition Point. There's one near the Tower, just a five minute walk."

Draco hesitated before saying, "I've never been to that Point before. You'll probably need to Side-Along me."

An over-eager Snitch took up in Harry's stomach, its wings beating a rapid flutter in his gut. "Not a problem," he said, pleased that his voice managed to stay even.

When they reached the platform, Draco held out his arm and Harry took it, wishing there weren't were so damned many layers so he could feel the lean, muscled flesh of Draco's forearm beneath his palm, unencumbered by so much fabric. It took longer than usual to clear his mind, but eventually he managed to get the proper focus to Disapparate them away.

"This way," he said after they'd landed and got their bearings, leading Draco out of the warded Apparition Point and off towards the Tower of London.

"Just to be perfectly clear," Draco said as they walked through the busy London streets. "If you were planning to ice skate yourself, I'm afraid you're on your own."

Harry laughed, unsurprised. "No worries, I guessed that would be the case. I was actually just planning to go to the free spectator area, maybe grab some overpriced hot chocolate from the café? Hard to talk about the case when I'm busy falling on my arse."

Draco grinned. "I'd have thought you'd be a wiz out on the ice."

Harry flashed him a rueful smile. "Not so much. Give me a broom over a pair of skates anyday."

Draco looked almost dreamy as he looked up into the darkening sky. "Yes, there's no better feeling than flying, is there?"

Harry couldn't help but glance at Draco's (well-defined) back, which was, of course, currently completely free of wings. But Draco had said he was a full Veela, which must mean that he _did_ have them sometimes… right? 

"Have you ever, err…" He waved his hand around in a gesture that was clearly meant to convey _flown about with your giant Veela wings_. 

Draco rolled his eyes, unimpressed with Harry's gesture. But it couldn't have been too bad since he appeared to understand what Harry had meant.

"Once or twice," he said wistfully. "To be honest, most of my training went into ensuring that I had enough control over my Allure and to not go _Fury_. It's even more difficult to learn how to separate the different aspects of _Fury_ from the loss of mental and emotional control and manifest them at will while staying completely sane." Draco looked a bit sheepish. "I'm still working on that. But don't worry," he hastened to add, "You're perfectly safe."

"I never doubted it," Harry said, almost surprised to realise he meant it. Because for all the time they'd been spending on this case, it hadn't escaped Harry's notice that there was no reason why _Draco_ couldn't have committed the murders, being a Veela himself, and one who, by his own admission, was lacking the grounding force of a Mate bond that seemed so crucial to a Veela's mental stability. But even if the fact that Draco had been in Italy for the first two murders hadn't effectively cleared his name—something Harry knew Robards would have made sure of before assigning Draco to the case—Harry still wouldn't have suspected him. Even as a horrible, prejudiced child, Draco hadn't had it in him to commit murder, and Harry believed—truly, fervently believed—that Draco had become a better man in the ten years since the end of the war, not a worse one.

Draco seemed pleased and flustered by Harry's show of trust, and Harry let him change the topic to something less personal, following him gamely into the café by the rink so they could get their hot chocolates. 

"I still think there's something off about that Jasper bloke," Harry said as they settled against the railing of the observation area, drinks in hand, to watch the skating figures below. They'd not got anything useful in their interviews of the three additional Veela on Wednesday, all of them having solid alibis for at least one of the murders. But they'd run into Jasper again—the male Veela with a major bone to pick with Draco—and there was something about the way he skulked around and asked Harry if there'd been any progress on the case that had rubbed Harry the wrong way. It wasn't uncommon for killers to try and insert themselves into the investigation, after all, and Jasper seemed arrogant enough to think he could get away with it.

Draco hummed. "And I still say, what's the motive? I've no fondness for Jasper, but thinking he's a dick isn't the same thing as thinking he's a murderer."

"Trust me, I know," Harry with a snort, giving Draco a pointed look. Draco flushed, no doubt remembering, as Harry had intended, how much of an absolute dick _Draco_ had been as a child. "He still gives me a weird feeling," Harry continued. "Maybe there's no secret motive. Maybe he's just a sociopath. That's not just limited to humans, is it?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "It may shock you to learn that I'm not actually an expert on sociopathy across species." 

"So you don't know if it's possible?"

"I didn't say _that_ ," Draco hedged. "From what I've heard, it's possible for a Veela to be a sociopath, but incredibly rare. And in the very few documented instances, it actually seems to lead to a _reduced_ likelihood of them going _Fury_ , since that state is driven by an excess of emotion, not a lack of it. If a sociopathic Veela is committing murder, they'd be far more likely to do it in a less volitile manner."

"Ugh, you're no fun." Harry pouted, nudging his arm against Draco's as he watched a pair of female skaters—first timers, by the look of it—cling to one another precariously as they wobbled around the rink. "Jasper's mated, yeah, to one of the female Veela we interviewed on the first round?"

"Yes, Kiara. She was the… third Veela we interviewed, I believe?"

"Right, yeah," Harry agreed. She'd had an alibi for two of the murders and hadn't particularly stood out to Harry one way or another. "Well, didn't you say Veela are protective of their Mates? Maybe these blokes threatened her? Or maybe they threatened _him_ and she's the one who went _Fury_ , and he's acting weird because he knows his Mate did it or something."

"Maybe…" Draco said skeptically. "But what possible reason would there have been for _three_ such disparate men to have threatened either one of them? The only thing I could think of would be anti-Creature bias. Merlin knows it's common enough, but our last vic's roommate said he was pro-Creature Rights, which his voting record confirms."

"That doesn't mean he couldn't have said the wrong thing at the wrong time."

"True," Draco agreed with a nod, though Harry could tell it was reluctant. "I'm not saying you aren't right, but we need more evidence than your gut and Jasper's bad attitude."

"Yeah, I know." Harry deflated. "I've been going over and over the files and the evidence, but I keep coming up empty. I can't help but feel like the clock is running out for our next victim."

Draco's expression was grave as he met Harry's eyes. "You think we'll get another." It wasn't a question.

Harry nodded. "Don't you?"

"Yes," Draco said heavily. "Unfortunately I do."

Draco sighed and looked out the skaters, and Harry turned to watch him. He still looked so goddamned tired, like he was running himself ragged, and Harry wondered if he was getting any sleep. Even exhausted though, Draco still was one of the most beautiful people Harry'd ever seen. His fair skin seemed to glow in the gloaming, and the gleam from the Christmas lights strung from the posts overhead caught on his hair, making it shine like polished platinum. Harry felt bad that Draco experienced the chill so acutely, but Harry appreciated the rosy flush it brought to the apples of Draco's cheeks, the deep ruby contrast it gave his full lips, and the way the reddened tip of his aquiline nose seemed to somehow soften the sharp lines of his face. Draco's expression was wistful as he took in the Muggles down below, a palpable longing in his gaze as he watched a laughing family stumble over one another on the ice, the father going down in a spectacular splay of limbs as his children shrieked with delight and swarmed to help him up. Hadn't Draco said that Veela were social creatures, that they craved connection? Did Draco have anybody to be that for him?

Harry had never in his life wanted so badly to reach out and touch. He wanted to _be_ that connection Draco needed, wanted to fix whatever it was that made Draco look so sad and alone. He recognised something in that yearning gaze of Draco's, something that ached hollowly in his own breast.

Draco turned, and their eyes caught and held for what felt like an eternity, the rush of the world around them slowing to a stop, fading away to nothing. The longing was still there in Draco's gaze, but now it was directed at him, at _Harry_ , and Harry was reaching for Draco before he'd even registered the thought to move.

His hand—uncovered, he'd left his gloves at the office—cupped Draco's bare cheek, his palm hot against Draco's face. Draco fairly melted beneath his touch, as if Harry's hand was a flame against the ice of Draco's skin. Harry felt a microsecond of worry that he was hurting Draco, but his panic was cut off by the look of abject bliss on Draco's face, the way he nuzzled into the touch like a Kneazle begging to be pet, and the little bird-like trill of pleasure that vibrated out of Draco's throat. Harry was enraptured, Draco's physical reaction to his touch hitting him more acutely than any Cheering Charm. He rubbed his thumb along the high plane of Draco's cheekbone and Draco's pale lashes fluttered, a hot gust of breath escaping his lips and warming Harry's fingers.

It was the last straw.

Harry leaned in—he couldn't help himself—and pressed his lips against Draco's. They were soft and cool and responded immediately to Harry's touch, opening up for him without resistance. Draco's hands gripped the front of Harry's winter cloak, tugging him closer, until Harry was pressing Draco back against the railing, their bodies flush. Harry lost track of time in that kiss, in the steady build of heat between them, the slick glide of lips and tongue. It was just about the best kiss of Harry's entire life, and it ended far too soon. 

The hands that had reeled Harry in reversed their direction, Draco's palms now flat against Harry's chest, easing him gently away. Harry went, reluctantly tearing his mouth from Draco's at his tacit request. Impossibly, Draco looked even more beautiful than before, rumpled desire somehow managing to wash away some of the earlier signs of his exhaustion. One side of his hair was slightly mussed from where Harry's hand had run through it, and he wanted to reach out and smooth it down, but Draco's careful gaze warned him off.

"That," Draco said cautiously, blinking slowly, as if coming out of a daze. "Was not a good idea."

Harry wanted to protest, wanted to say it was the _best_ idea, truly, anything to get back to the incredible snogging, but he knew that Draco was probably right. They were colleagues, _partners_ , and Harry had only been acquainted with this new and improved Draco Malfoy for less than two weeks. He barely knew him really, and he was aware there were still things Draco was keeping from him. Not to mention, there were the lingering worries his friends had put in his head about the Veela Allure. Were his feelings even real? They _felt_ real, but… 

"You're probably right," Harry finally said, the words heavy in his mouth.

Draco gave him a somewhat shaky smile. "I usually am." He paused. "Well, these days. It took an entire childhood of being consistently and overwhelmingly wrong for me to finally get here."

Harry's hands were shaking. He shoved them into his pockets.

"So," he said gruffly. "Pretend this never happened?"

Draco winced, but nodded. "I think that's probably best."

"Yeah," Harry said, ignoring the pit that had formed in his stomach, hollow and cold. "For the best."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Progress! ... sort of... ;)


	13. Saturday, 13 December 2008

[ ](https://imgur.com/DSL8vlm)  
[IMAGE: Close-up of the "Welcome to Hogsmeade" sign.]

Draco woke up that morning feeling better than he had in weeks. For the first time since he'd arrived in Britain, he felt alert and well-rested, and even his magic seemed a bit stronger as he cast the necessary spells for his morning ablutions. He wouldn't go so far as to say he was even _close_ to one-hundred percent, but he was certainly nearer to feeling like his normal self than he had been in a long while. Draco didn't want to look a gift Abraxan in the mouth, but his mind couldn't help but jump to conclusions. Because the only thing that was different this morning as compared to every other morning since he'd arrived, was the fact that last night he'd kissed Harry Potter.

And _Salazar_ , what a kiss it had been.

For a brief, panicked moment, he worried the kiss might have been so incendiary as to start the process of a mating bond, but no. When he checked, he couldn't sense so much as a whisper of a bond. Perhaps the kiss had merely sated his need for physical connection and given Draco's magic a boost? Or perhaps the kiss was so bloody brilliant that Draco's spirits couldn't help but be lifted, and it was all just a placebo effect.

It really _was_ an excellent kiss.

Excellent, and entirely inappropriate. Because almost as terrifying as the prospect of having triggered the mating bond was the fear that Draco had somehow lost control of his Allure. What other reason could there be for Harry to look at him the way he had last night, for him to touch and kiss Draco with such gentle reverence? It was unfathomable that Harry could feel that way about Draco of his own free will, not after all that Draco had done.

Draco must be influencing him. 

The thought was a lead ball in his stomach, heavy and painful. He'd have to watch Harry carefully from now on, making sure it was only a one-time lapse in Draco's Allure shields. If it continued, he'd be forced to admit his culpability, which would surely damage what little progress they'd made as friends and likely ruin their chances entirely of successfully partnering together. But Draco wouldn't influence Harry against his will, not on purpose.

Draco spent the morning in meditation, going through and mentally reinforcing the shields he'd placed around his Allure, the way he'd been taught in Italy all those years ago. They seemed sound enough as he meticulously checked them over for signs of weakening or cracks, but clearly _something_ had got out. He was at it for hours, until he finally felt satisfied that they were as impenetrable as he could make them. 

That task completed, the rest of the day stretched before him, empty and endless. He wondered how Harry was spending his weekend, if he was with friends or alone, like Draco. If Harry was thinking of Draco and that kiss, obsessing over it the way Draco was. Draco hated that he hoped Harry was; knowing that it wasn't _really_ Harry who wanted to kiss Draco like the world was ending didn't stop Draco from wishing that Harry truly did, that it was real. Which was ridiculous, because Draco had long since resigned himself to being alone, had grown comfortable with it. There was no reason for him to stare wistfully out the window, wishing it were Monday so he could see Harry again.

No, he was being ridiculous. Ridiculous and maudlin and soppy and _it had to stop_. He needed a distraction, and quick.

Just because it wasn't Monday, it didn't mean he couldn't work—Merlin knew they were at a total stand-still with their case and could use a break. He'd already gone over the files a thousand times, and going back to speak to the family of the victims or witnesses again by himself was right out, but he could always revisit the crime scenes and see if anything jogged his memory. Bundling himself up in as many layers as he could comfortably manage, Draco set out for Hogsmeade.

* * *

Draco decided to visit the most recent scene first. He fully intended to head straight there, but as he walked past the familiar café and was hit with the alluring scent of roasting coffee beans and baked goods, Draco found himself making a quick detour into Witch's Brew. The same girl—Mari, Draco believed was her name—was working again, though she wasn't alone; a slight, dark-skinned man with a cheerful smile about the same age as Mari manned the register while she made the drinks. He remembered her scowl last time, after she'd realised what Draco was, and hoped she wouldn't end up spitting in his drink. 

Then again, Draco thought as he watched her stomp about making drinks, perhaps she was just naturally bad-tempered, and her fear over the murder had temporarily blunted her naturally surly demeanor. Her fair, fine features were twisted into a glower as she worked the espresso machine, and her coworker seemed to be giving her as wide a berth as he could manage in the cramped space. It looked like she'd not even bothered with makeup today, and the dark circles under her eyes were so stark, Draco momentarily wondered if they were actually bruises, if perhaps her unpleasant disposition was being influenced by an unsafe home environment. But no, a closer look convinced Draco they were just the standard signs of exhaustion. Maybe the thought of the murder was keeping her up at night. Or maybe, like most people her age, she'd spent Friday night partying and was simply hungover. Draco couldn't help but laugh a little at himself. How desperate was he to get his mind off Harry that he was speculating on the life of some random barista?

Thankfully, Mari seemed to have little interest in interacting with customers today and did not appear to notice Draco at all, not even when she made his drink and called out his order. Draco hadn't known one could say the words "Caramel White Chocolate Mocha" with such disdain—it was almost impressive.

Draco allowed himself a few more moments to linger in the warmth of the shop, one of the few places he'd been that was properly heated. Other patrons didn't seem to agree, most having shed their heavy winter cloaks. One woman was even fanning herself with a piece of parchment, which Draco thought was a bit dramatic, but when she went up to the register to ask the male barista if the Heating Charms could be adjusted, he apologised and said they were unfortunately malfunctioning, so perhaps the shop really _was_ too warm. The barista didn't seem much happier about this than the complaining customer as he was stripped down to a T-shirt beneath his apron, sweat staining the armpits a dark grey. Draco wondered if he could find out just _how_ the charms were malfunctioning and re-create the result. Perhaps then he might manage to stay at a comfortable temperature for more than an hour at a time.

As nice as it was, Draco had work to do, and sitting in a café all day wasn't accomplishing anything. Bracing himself, he stepped back out into the cold and made his way slowly to the alleyway where the body had been found.

Thirty minutes later, he emerged back out into the square, freezing and disappointed. He'd not really expected to find a sparking wand, as it were, but he couldn't deny that he'd been hoping for _something_. Still, it wouldn't do to become discouraged. There were still two other crime scenes to investigate.

A flash of white down the street caught Draco's eye and he turned, his eyes widening in surprise. Because walking into the café he'd vacated not an hour before were two familiar figures that, as far as Draco knew, had no reason to be so very far from home.

 _Aderyn and Jasper_ , Draco thought to himself as he watched them disappear inside the café. _What on earth are you doing so far from home?_


	14. Sunday, 14 December 2008

[](https://imgur.com/9Sp0DOb)   
[IMAGE: London's Tower Bridge lit up at night.]

"Hello, Harry," Luna said brightly, leaning in to brush her lips against his cheek. "I'm glad you were able to meet me today."

"Yeah, of course," Harry replied. He'd been somewhat surprised to get Luna's owl yesterday asking if he was free for coffee this afternoon, as they'd just seen one another at her party the previous weekend, but he was more than happy to see her again. "I was a little surprised by the location though." 

She'd asked to meet at Potters Fields Park in Muggle London, which wasn't anywhere near their usual haunts, though he had to admit, the views of the Tower Bridge were spectacular. Across the Thames he could see the Tower of London, which of course made him think back to Friday night, when he and Draco had watched the Muggle ice skaters before sharing that mind-melting kiss. The fact that Luna had contacted him out of the blue to meet up so near to the scene of that recent… incident, seemed like some kind of sign. A sign of _what_ , however, Harry had no idea.

"Oh, I just had a meeting at the Bridge Theatre." She gestured vaguely towards a modern-looking building that bordered the park. "We've been thinking of bringing _The Hornless Snorkack_ to the Muggles—we've already talked to the Ministry's Department of Culture and confirmed that it shouldn't violate the Statute if we modify the play to remove the spellwork. I think the Muggles will really enjoy it, don't you?"

In addition to her work as Editor of the _Quibbler_ , and the assistance she gave her husband, Rolf, in his career as a magizoologist, Luna had recently decided to become a playwright. _The Hornless Snorkack_ was her first foray into the world of theatre, and Rolf—always her biggest supporter—had worked tirelessly to bring it to the stage. It was… an experience, to say the least, and exactly the kind of strange and magical play one would expect Luna to write. Lucky for her, eccentricity was often rewarded both in the wizarding world and when it came to the theatre, and the play had enjoyed a modest success, much to Harry's surprise. He wasn't entirely sure how the play would translate for a non-magical audience, but he'd let Luna and Rolf deal with that.

"I'm sure the Muggles won't have ever seen anything like it," Harry said sincerely. Luna beamed.

"Yes, my thoughts exactly," she said dreamily. "Though I'm not sure the Bridge Theatre is a good fit. They had a very serious infestation of Nargles, though of course I couldn't tell the Muggles that." She frowned. "It _might_ only be from all the mistletoe they had up for Christmas, though—you know how much Nargles love mistletoe. I'll have to come back in January and see if it's cleared up."

Harry grinned as Luna took his arm and began to guide them towards the coffee shop across the park. "That sounds like a very smart idea."

They continued to chat about the play and her thoughts on the expansion into Muggle London as they queued up and got their coffees, sitting down at one of the tables with a lovely view of the bridge. The sun was already beginning to set, though it was only late afternoon. The diminishing daylight was one of Harry's least favourite parts of winter, but he couldn't deny that the Tower Bridge looked quite lovely as the lights began to turn on, as did the trees throughout the park, all decked out in Christmas lights.

"But that's enough about me," Luna said as they settled in. "Tell me about you and Draco."

Harry choked on his latte while Luna watched him tranquilly. "What about me and Draco?" Harry asked carefully, once he'd cleared the coffee from his lungs.

"We didn't get a chance to talk much at my party, but I could tell your new partnership was weighing on you, and it's even more obvious now. Did something happen?"

Harry hesitated. "Do you think it's possible for somebody like Draco to really change? I mean, it's been ten years, and a lot has happened to him—to all of us—since the war, but the things he did…"

"Are you asking because you think he hasn't and you don't know if you can work with him? Or because you think he has, and you feel guilty about it?"

Luna always had been more perceptive than anybody gave her credit for. "The latter," Harry admitted reluctantly. Luna smiled serenely.

"Yes, I thought so. I won't deny that Draco did and thought some horrible things as a child, but I do think change is possible," she said. "What would be the point of it all if there was no room to grow and change? From what I've seen and heard of Draco, I don't think he's the same boy he once was." She paused and took a sip of her herbal tea, her gaze distant and somewhat troubled. "Even towards the end of the war, he was changing, I think. When I was held captive at the Manor, I could tell how much he hated what was happening. I used to resent him for being so cowardly, for not even trying to make things better for us by sneaking us extra food or blankets, but knowing now that he'd already presented as a Veela…" She shuddered, the action seeming to snap her out of the vague trance she'd been in as she met Harry's gaze. "It does change the way I view what happened. I don't condone his actions, but I imagine that would have been very difficult for him, having got in so deep and realising he was a Veela on top of all that. He must have been petrified of stepping so much as a toe out of line for fear he might be found out."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, a shiver going through him as he thought of what might have happened had Voldemort discovered Draco's secret. It put Draco's refusal to concretely name Harry at the Manor into a new light. True, Draco hadn't outright denied that it had been Harry, but given how desperately Draco hadn't wanted to attract notice, just the fact that he'd not immediately handed Harry over… 

"I do think he's different," Harry said, fiddling with a paper napkin on the table. "We work well together, and I think this partnership could actually work. He's smart, you know? Sharp. He really knows what he's doing."

"Those all sound like positive attributes," Luna said. Harry nodded, and she gave him one of her placid, penetrating stares. "So why are you saying them like they're a bad thing?"

"What if it's just the Allure?" Harry blurted out. "He's a Veela, right? He's got the ability, and I don't think he'd use it on me, but… isn't it a little weird, how quickly I trust him?"

Luna was silent for a moment and then, "Do you like him, Harry?"

Harry's cheeks grew warm and he focused on shredding the napkin in his hands into even smaller pieces. "I just said I did." Harry could practically feel Luna's unimpressed stare. The silence grew heavy, and Harry sighed. 

"Yeah," he whispered. "I do."

"And that's why you're so worried?"

"I mean, the trust thing is a pretty big deal, too, given everything he's done. And yeah, he's fit, whatever, I've got eyes. But I _like_ him. Draco Malfoy. Me." He gave her a look that conveyed exactly how bizarre that turn of events was, before continuing in a whisper, "What if it's not real?"

Luna's expression was gentle, kind. "Do you really think that, Harry? Or are you just worried that's what everybody else will think if they find out?"

Harry didn't answer. He wasn't sure himself.

"Okay then, how about this," Luna said with a soft smile when Harry remained silent. "You've been around other Veela before, yes?"

Harry nodded. "There were full Veela at the Quidditch World Cup the summer before fourth year, and I've been around Fleur and Gabrielle loads, who are both partial Veela."

"And have you ever felt the effects of the Veela Allure during any of those encounters?"

Harry remembered the first time he'd seen the Veela dancing from up in the Quidditch stands during the World Cup, the way he'd gone light-headed and how he'd half-wanted to pitch himself off the Top Box in a fit of gallantry. It had felt almost trance-like, not dissimilar to the feeling of being under the Imperius Curse. His eyes widened. "Yeah," he said slowly. "But just the once. Only the first time I ever saw a Veela, when I didn't know what to expect."

Luna's smile widened, clearly pleased he was following her logic. "Veela Allure is most effective the first time, and particularly if you're caught unawares. Prolonged exposure, knowledge of the effects, and a strong will all weaken its power. I'd imagine that somebody who can throw off the Imperius would be pretty hard to influence."

"That's true," Harry said thoughtfully, working through the implications. "We saw the Veela again after that first time, when we were at the World Cup, and Ron was still affected but I wasn't. And he and the rest of the boys at school always went mad around Fleur, and she didn't seem to affect me the same way."

"And they all acted like a bunch of fools," Luna said with a wrinkle of her nose. "They all said whatever they thought would sound the most impressive, even if it was an outright lie. Have you had the urge to tell Draco you defeated a Dark Lord and saved the country at the age of seventeen?" She giggled and winked. "Oh, wait, I suppose that would be true."

"Oh, piss off," he said with a laugh. "I doubt reminding Draco that we were on the opposite sides of a genocidal war as children would be the way to his heart."

"Is that what you want?" she asked mildly over the rim of her cup. "To find the way to Draco's heart?"

Heat flooded Harry's face and he groaned, folding his arms against the table and pressing his forehead against them. "I kissed him," he mumbled to the table.

"What was that?"

He sighed again and tilted his head so it was his chin against his fingers instead of his forehead. He bit his lip and then said again, "I kissed Draco."

Luna's eyes widened, but she didn't look disgusted or horrified, so he supposed that was a win. Actually, what she most seemed was amused. Her lips twitched and, when Harry glared at her, she brought her hand up to her mouth to cover a "cough" that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

" _Oh_ ," she said after she'd finished 'coughing'. "I suppose that makes more sense why you were so worried about the Allure."

"Yeah."

"Are you still worried that could be a factor?"

"No," Harry admitted. "I don't think I ever really was."

"How was the kiss?" Luna's expression gleamed with unrepressed curiosity. Harry groaned again.

"Bloody fantastic," he said with feeling. "I don't think I've ever had such an amazing first kiss. I don't know that I've ever had such an amazing kiss, full stop."

"You really do like him, don't you?"

"I really fucking do," Harry said miserably. "I wake up in the morning _thrilled_ to go to work so I can see him again. Just the scent of his stupid cologne makes my heart race. I get fucking _butterflies_ when he smiles at me."

"Oh, aren't those feelings the best?" Luna asked dreamily. She looked like she was seconds from clapping her hands together in delight, much to Harry's alarm.

"No, they bloody well aren't," Harry grumbled. "It's horrible."

Luna's brow furrowed, as if she couldn't imagine why Harry wasn't jumping for joy at his predicament. Harry gave her an incredulous stare. 

"He's my Auror partner, Luna. I don't know what he wants. I don't know what _I_ want. And most importantly, he's Draco bloody Malfoy."

"Yes, that does present a bit of a problem," Luna replied, her expression creased with sympathy. "You could always try talking to him. I'm not saying that you should necessarily be together, but don't let the past or your fear of other people's opinions keep you from pursuing something you want."

"He said it was a mistake," Harry said, remembering the heavy feeling in his stomach at Draco's pronouncement. "I agreed."

Luna nodded. "Yes, well, he does have a lot more to lose than you do. I'm not surprised he's cautious."

"More to lose?"

This time it was Luna's turn to look incredulous. "As you said earlier, he's _Draco bloody Malfoy_. I don't know how the _Prophet_ hasn't caught wind that he's the Being in question that was brought on for the pilot programme the DMLE and DRCMC have been trying to get off the ground for years, but you can be sure they'll have some thoughts on Draco being an Auror—both due to him being a Veela and for being a former Death Eater. It's been ten years, but a lot of people haven't forgotten or forgiven, and he's going to have an uphill battle fighting discrimination on both fronts."

Harry's expression twisted, remembering the looks and the wide berth they'd been given in Diagon. If it was just because of Draco's actions during the war, Harry would be more understanding, but he didn't think that was exclusively the case. "Yeah, that's true."

"Dating you… it could really blow up in his face. All those worries you just had about the Veela Allure? Guess what the papers will say first? And if it's not the Allure, it'll be some Love Potion or Dark Magic. Not to say what might happen if you were to get together and break up. He doesn't have friends, family, nor connections here any longer. It's a pretty vulnerable place to be in."

She was right, and Harry hated it, hated the thought that Draco could suffer so much just for being with him. Harry didn't even know if that was something Draco _wanted_ —hell, Harry didn't know if it was something _he_ wanted, either—but the thought that they might never even have a chance to explore the possibility… Which was ridiculous, because Harry had already come to the same conclusion. They'd both agreed Friday night that the kiss was a mistake, that it couldn't happen again. There was no reason to feel so disappointed just because Luna had pointed out yet another thing set against them. 

He took a sip of his latte—already cold—and flashed Luna a slightly forced smile. She was smart enough to know it wasn't genuine and kind enough not to challenge him on it.

"Well, no use talking about it anymore, is there? Why don't you tell me about the trip you and Rolf have planned for the winter holidays?" Luna and Rolf spent the last two weeks of every year travelling to some new exotic location in search of the latest mythical creature. It was something Luna looked forward to with great anticipation, and was a topic she could generally speak on for hours.

Luna gave him a kind look that told Harry she knew exactly what he was up to, but thankfully, she seemed willing enough to change the subject… for now.

"Well," she began with an excited smile. "This year we're going to Borneo to look for…"


	15. Monday, 15 December 2008

[](https://imgur.com/WtbTItR)   
[IMAGE: The entrance to a stone car tunnel  
surrounded by snow-covered trees.]

Draco woke up to a large glowing tiger sitting on his chest. He wasn't too proud to admit (to himself) that he _might_ have let out a brief scream of shock, before he recognised the weightless ghostly apparition as a Patronus.

"There's been another murder," came Robards's deep baritone from the tiger's mouth. "Portkey to the scene is set to leave from your office in twenty minutes."

With that, the tiger dissolved into wisps of silver, and Draco groaned, pushing himself out of bed. He and Harry had suspected there'd be another murder soon; Draco just hadn't thought it would be _this_ soon. A quick glance at his watch told him it was just after five AM. Today was going to be a long day. 

Draco dressed quickly, throwing on a few extra layers, assuming they'd be outside again and wanting to do his best to protect himself from the chilly winter-morning air. He arrived at the Ministry with five minutes to spare, running into Harry in the Atrium, who was rubbing sleep from his eyes as he finished tugging on his Auror's robes. Draco hated the way his heart leapt at the sight of him. It was the first time he'd seen Harry since that ill-advised kiss on Friday, the one Draco hadn't been able to stop thinking about all weekend. His eyes flicked down to Harry's lips without his permission, and when he met Harry's gaze again, they were both blushing. Draco cleared his throat and attempted to clear his head, giving Harry a professional nod as they fell into step together.

"I didn't realise Robards's Patronus was a tiger," Draco said as they made their way to their office, desperate to dissipate the tension that had settled over them. "Not a half-terrifying sight to wake up to."

Harry's lips twitched into a smile. "Robards loves scaring the new Aurors with it. The first time he called me in with his Patronus I was coming out of the shower and nearly brained myself on the tiles."

"Well, that makes me feel better about screaming, then," Draco said as he pressed open their office door. Their Portkey—an empty crisps package in the middle of Harry's desk—was already starting to glow, signalling an impending departure, and they both dove for the wrapper, grabbing hold just in time. 

They landed at the side of a snowy road, the mouth of a tunnel set into a mountainside on their right. All the other victims had been found in town, so this appeared to be a departure in pattern. Draco had no idea where they were, but he could make out the twinkling lights of a village in the distance, which he guessed was Hogsmeade. 

Across the street, Magiforensics were already at work, the falling snow evaporating into steam as it came into contact with the domed crime-scene barrier they'd already erected. Magical Signature Trace must have already done their sweep because Draco could make out the flash of wands and the sizzle of spells. He had a feeling that, like the rest of the scenes, there wouldn't be any signatures they could actually trace anyway.

"Shall we?" he asked, turning towards Harry and gesturing towards the scene. 

Harry nodded grimly and crossed the street. 

Chang was busy gesticulating forcibly and directing her underlings, so Harry and Draco both made their way towards the body, falling effortlessly into sync. Clearwater was already there, muttering to herself under her breath as she cast a series diagnostic spells.

"Body's been moved," she said by way of greeting, gesturing with her wand to the frozen ground beneath the corpse, which was a pristine white and entirely free of blood. Given the gaping holes, severe burns, and deep claw marks covering the body, there definitely should have been a _lot_ of blood.

"All the other bodies were found in Hogsmeade within several streets of one another. My guess is our victim here was murdered in the same area and then moved," Harry said, brow furrowed. 

"Our killer's getting worried," Draco said quietly. "They must have noticed our presence. We'll need to set up a sweep of those areas and see if we can't find the murder site."

Harry made a face. "Yeah. I'm thinking we'll probably need to call in Pucey's team to help do the sweep and search. Cho's got her hands full with the dump sight." Draco nodded as Harry continued, "My question is, assuming the murder did take place in Hogsmeade, how did the killer move the body?"

"Magic would normally be my first guess. And if they did use magic, Magical Signature Trace will have picked that up."

"Do you think they'd have been so sloppy?"

Draco shrugged. "Maybe? The real question is if the Veela in question moved the body while still in the grips of _Fury_. If so, then it's far more likely that they flew."

Harry and Draco both looked intently at the body—another male, this one appearing older than their other victims but far from frail. "Our victim isn't exactly a light-weight," Harry said musingly. "If our killer carried him here without magic, does that mean we're looking for a male, or at least somebody with enough strength to physically move a body across such a great distance?"

Draco shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. A Veela's physical strength is already greater than an average wizard's, but during _Fury_ , it's greater still. I'd guess that any full Veela would be capable of flying with our victim's body, regardless of their sex, age, or stature."

Harry swore, clearly just as frustrated as Draco that every time it appeared there might be a lead, it turned into a dead end. He turned to Clearwater.

"Anything else you can tell us so far, Penelope?"

She Levitated a pearly purple vial encased in a protective Stasis Charm bubble. "This was found in our vicitm's robe pocket. It's a common potion—one you can find in any Apothecary—used to treat erectile dysfunction. It was empty, and my preliminary spells indicate its presence in our victim's bloodstream, which means he would have taken this potion within four hours of his death."

"Interesting," Draco said as he looked over the body. His eyes caught on the man's ring finger. It was bare, but the faint tan line around the base of his finger indicated that it wasn't always. He pointed it out to Harry. "What do you think: infidelity, or a recent divorce?"

"Could he have propositioned a Veela? Maybe our Mate theory wasn't so far off. If he went after a Veela, could that have driven their Mate into _Fury_?" Harry asked.

Draco shrugged. "Maybe, depending on the circumstance. Perhaps if he was being particularly insistent or lecherous, or if the Veela was especially territorial? It's certainly a possibility."

"All of the victims have been male… knowing the appeal of Veela, this could be sexual."

Draco mentally flicked through the victim reports. "There's not been any sign of sexual abuse in the victims, nor any indication of recent sexual activity."

"Maybe that's the point…" Harry said significantly. "Maybe they were killed before they had the chance."

"Perhaps," Draco agreed. Like Harry said, Veela did have a certain appeal, and a lot of men—and the occasional woman—seemed to think that a Veela's charm and beauty meant they were public property. Draco had dealt with his share of unwelcome come-ons and pushy admirers who weren't so keen on taking no for an answer. There'd been times when Draco had wanted to snap, had wanted to show those men who thought they could own Draco just what he was capable of. 

He shivered, from the memories or the cold, Draco wasn't entirely sure. But a moment later, the heated blanket of a Warming Charm settled over him, and when he looked over at Harry, he was watching Draco, curious and sympathetic. Draco couldn't help but smile at him, taking an involuntary step closer until their robes brushed together. The scent of Harry's soap—some kind of spiced citrus that Draco had quickly become familiar with and addicted to—filled Draco's nose, settling Draco even as Magiforensics whirled around them, processing the gruesome crime scene.

"We're going to need to interview the Veela again," Draco said grimly. "This isn't a copy-cat, it's the real deal. And I've not had a chance to tell you about what I saw this weekend."

"You found something?"

" _Saw_ something. I went back to the crime scenes, just to take another look around and see if anything stood out. And when I was coming back out of the alley from the last scene, I saw Aderyn and Jasper walking into that café. Witch's Brew."

Harry frowned. "What on earth were they doing there? Didn't that barista say that Veela didn't have any reason to be in that neighbourhood?"

"She did," Draco confirmed. "Though we didn't show her any photos of the Aerie, so it's possible she didn't know they were Veela—she didn't recognise me at first for what I was."

"And it might have been their first time there, though it's still odd, visiting a neighborhood café on the same street as one of the crime scenes, and not far off from the other two. From our interviews, neither of them work in Hogsmeade."

"Exactly. And days later, we have a fourth victim? There's certainly something fishy going on. Perhaps you were right to be suspicious of Jasper."

Harry's mouth was set into a grim line, and Draco couldn't help the (extremely inappropriate) thought that he looked damned sexy when he was all broody and determined.

"I think it's time we paid our Veela friends another visit."


	16. Tuesday, 16 December 2008

[](https://imgur.com/O2AuLrK)   
[IMAGE: Large snow-covered iron gate with stone  
pillars and two Christmas wreaths on the doors.]

Harry was growing quite accustomed to the whole involved process of getting out to _Aingeal Tine_ : clearly, the third time really was the charm. It was starting to seem positively normal to climb aboard a magical reindeer-pulled sleigh and traverse the snowy Scottish mountainside, Draco Malfoy at his side. 

Of course, he was even more aware of Draco now than the first two times they'd visited, his every sense tingling at Draco's proximity. They were sat so close together in the sleigh that if Harry turned, his nose would brush right up against Draco's smooth cheek. From there, it would be nothing at all to lean forward just a hair until their mouths brushed together. How would Draco react if Harry did it, if he turned and kissed Draco the way Harry so desperately wanted to? Would Draco kiss him back, as he had by the ice rink, like kissing Harry was more important than breathing? Or would his cool, plush lips stay pursed and unresponsive?

"Are you all right?" Draco asked, his voice quiet and concerned as the sleigh glided smoothly across the snow. 

Harry flushed—he seemed to do that a lot around Draco—and tried to summon a smile. 

"Yeah, fine," he replied. "Just frustrated with this case is all."

That was true, at least. They'd been at the crime scene yesterday for hours, only to have Cho confirm that there was nothing useful to be found. Harry wasn't surprised, particularly given that it was just a dump sight and not where their victim had been killed, but it was still aggravating. Especially because the sweep of the neighbourhoods where their last victims had been found hadn't turned up anything either, leaving the actual location of the murder a complete mystery. 

After they'd finished with the crime scene, he and Draco then had the horrible job of informing the victim's wife—it was infidelity, then, not divorce. She'd made a big show of seeming distraught, but he and Draco had been in agreement that it was just that—a show. Given the other murders, they felt it was unlikely the wife was actually involved, but they couldn't rule her out just yet as she had no alibi, which meant they had one more puzzle piece that didn't seem to fit anywhere. Harry was hoping that their interviews today might be more fruitful, but he wasn't optimistic.

"Yes, I know what you mean," Draco said, his jaw tight as he wearily ran a hand over his face. He'd seemed more rested yesterday, like perhaps he'd finally been able to get some proper sleep over the weekend, but this morning saw him looking just as exhausted as ever. Harry wondered if it had anything to do with the case, if the fact that a Veela was involved was what was keeping Draco up at night. It only made Harry even more determined to find their murderer. He tried very hard not to examine this new and disturbingly strong protective instinct towards Draco too closely.

The sleigh approached the large wrought-iron gates, covered with freshly fallen snow. Two large wreaths now adorned the each half of gate, green needles and bright red bows peeking out from beneath the dusting of white. The gate swung silently open as they drew near, and once again, they passed through into the Aerie.

They decided to interview all the Veela once more, even the ones who had alibis—if they hadn't committed the murders, they might know who had. Everybody was present except Jasper, who was apparently in Edinburgh for business. Harry exchanged a significant look with Draco at the news. The Aerie had known they were coming today, as Harry and Draco had followed protocol and sent an owl yesterday announcing their intention to call. That Jasper had decided to conduct his _very important business_ today, of all days… well, it was certainly suspicious, and even Aderyn seemed to know it, her lips twisting into a grimace as she shared the news.

"Well, he'll just have to come in to the Ministry tomorrow for questioning then," Draco said sharply, holding up a hand to Aderyn when she made a move to protest. "We've been more than obliging, making all of these trips—trips that take up a significant amount of time that we _could_ be using to further our investigation—to visit you in your home where you're most comfortable. We don't have the luxury of taking even more time out of our busy days to come here again just to conduct a single interview. We'll expect Jasper tomorrow at the Ministry; I think we'd all prefer he show up voluntarily."

Aderyn's eyes flashed with fire, and Harry's hand twitched towards his wand, fully prepared to step in if Aderyn lost control, but she merely gave them a tight nod. Harry supposed he really shouldn't have found the sight of Draco fiercely standing up to a Veela Matriarch so unbelievably hot, but he couldn't seem to help himself. He cleared his throat and focused on the ropes of shiny garland decorating the corridors instead.

"Well, shall we get started, then?" Harry suggested after a tense moment. "We thought we could start with the rest of your Aerie and then end our interviews with you, Aderyn. Could you please send in Kiara to speak with us first?"

Draco gave him an approving nod, indicating they were on the same page once more. Perhaps Jasper's Mate could shed some light on Jasper's whereabouts… and why he'd been in Hogsmeade with Aderyn this past weekend.

"Yes, that is fine," Aderyn said, her voice regaining its cool, melodious quality as she got herself back under control. She gestured to the sitting room. "I'll find her and send her in. Please sit and help yourself to some tea."

This time around, the interviews went much more quickly and were even more uneventful. With the additional crime, nearly all of the Veela now had alibis for at least one of the murders, and their suspect pool was further dwindling. The only interview that was at all potentially useful was the first with Kiara, who'd admitted that she had no idea why Jasper had gone into town that day because they'd got into a row last week and had been spending some time apart to cool down. Apparently they'd been experiencing a rough patch over the past few months, and Harry made a note to ask Draco what kind of effect a rocky relationship might have on the stabilising effects of a Mate bond. Surely it couldn't be good?

It was early late afternoon by the time they finally got to Aderyn, their last interview before they could head back to London.

"Where were you on Saturday, Aderyn?" Draco asked smoothly after Aderyn had settled into her chair, regal as a Queen.

She gave him a sharp look. "I thought the murder occured Sunday evening?"

"It did. We're following multiple leads. Please answer the question."

She appeared reluctant, clearly unenthused about divulging her whereabouts but sensing that a lie would be a bad idea. "I was in Hogsmeade. They have a Christmas market, and I wanted to purchase some gifts."

Harry and Draco exchanged a quick look before Harry asked, "Alone?"

She hesitated. "No. I was with a member of my Aerie." Harry and Draco both stared at her, stone-faced, until she grudgingly clarified, "With Jasper."

"Is there a reason why Jasper accompanied you?"

"That is a private matter. It doesn't concern you."

Draco's eyes flashed and a jolt of anticipation went through Harry. He _really_ had a thing for a riled-up Draco. "Might I remind you that these murders were committed by a Veela, and our best suspect is a member of your Aerie? I suggest you don't presume to tell us what is or is not our business. The sooner we catch this killer, the better for all of us."

Aderyn looked outraged, but she clearly saw Draco's point. "Of course, Auror," she said through clenched teeth. "I hope, of course, that I can count on your discretion. It concerns a rather delicate matter for one of my Veela, and I would not normally break their confidence."

Draco nodded, all smooth graciousness. "Of course. If it has no bearing on our case, then we have no reason to pay it any mind. But I'm afraid we'll need to know the situation before we can make that determination."

"Jasper is… experiencing some difficulties with his Mate, Kiara. Relationship troubles are always difficult, but with mated Veela, it can be even more distressing. Though Mate bonds can be dissolved, it's not something that is undertaken lightly. As Matriarch, Jasper came to me for guidance. I had already planned to visit the market on Saturday to purchase some Christmas gifts, and I suggested he come with me to give us some additional privacy as we discussed matters."

"I see," Draco said pensively. 

"Kiara has already shared that she and Jasper have been going through a rough patch," Harry added, wanting to make it clear to Aderyn that she'd not divulged anything they hadn't already known, that she'd not broken Jasper's confidence. She gave him a nod that Harry chose to interpret as grateful.

"You said you were in Hogsmeade to visit the Christmas market, correct?" Draco asked.

Aderyn nodded.

"Would you mind clarifying what brought you to Witch's Brew? It's several streets away from the market and the main shops."

Aderyn's brow furrowed in thought. "I can't remember the name, but Jasper and I did stop at a café to ask for directions. It has been several months since I was last in Hogsmeade, and I got a little lost. Thankfully, the cheerful young barista was able to point us in the right direction."

Draco looked just as skeptical as Harry felt, though he quickly schooled his expression. The explanation did seem a little too neat.

"Were you aware that you just happened to be within minutes' walking distance to where most of the bodies have been found? The third, in fact, was discovered in an alleyway just across the street."

Harry had to give it to her; if she was faking, she was awfully good at it. The shock and discomfort on her face seemed entirely real.

"I see," she said, looking shaken. "I understand your concern over my whereabouts now, but I assure you, I did not commit these murders, nor do I know who did. I simply cannot believe anybody in my Aerie would do such a thing."

"Nobody ever expects somebody they know, someone they're close to, to be capable of murder. But unfortunately for us, killers don't live in some isolated bubble."

"Of course, but truly, our Aerie has suffered enough from anti-Veela bias. The thought that any of them would be so reckless as to endanger our Aerie further…" She shook her head, her expression fierce. "When word of these murders gets out—and I cannot believe you've managed to keep a lid on the particulars for so long—things are going to become very dangerous for any Veela in the area."

Draco grimaced, and a pang went through Harry as Aderyn's words sunk in. She was right. Once the public heard that there was a mad Veela out there murdering wizards, any Veela could be in danger from a hate crime masquerading as vigilante justice. Harry's stomach dropped as he realised that Draco Malfoy was the most notorious Veela in the country.

"If it's not one of yours, Aderyn, then who do you suspect?" Draco asked, not unkindly. "The next closest Aerie is on the continent, and the few independently registered Veela that the Ministry have on file all went South for the winter."

She scoffed. "Surely you're not so naïve as to think every Veela has registered with the Ministry?"

"Do you know of any unregistered Veela?" Harry pressed, hoping that she did, that they might actually have a lead.

She shot him a poisonous look. "If I did, do you think I'd sell them out to _you_?"

"Not even to protect your Aerie?" Harry shot back, feeling almost guilty when she winced.

"I understand the conflict," Draco said softly, giving Harry a look that clearly told him to let Draco handle this. "But I promise you, we'll not bring any charges for failure to register, and they won't find out that you were the one who told us. But these murders _are_ being committed by a Veela, and if it's not one of yours, then…"

Aderyn sighed, looking suddenly exhausted. "I don't have any names for you." Draco opened his mouth, but she held up a hand to forstall him. "At this point, I would tell you, if I did. But the only unregistered Veela I know have gone South. The first thing I did when I got your owl yesterday was confirm that they were truly gone. If they weren't, I'd tell you, but I'll not betray my kind lightly. In this, they are innocent."

Draco nodded, seemingly content to take her at her word. A part of Harry wanted to push, but he remembered the sense of horror he'd felt during the war when Muggleborns and half-bloods had been required to register their blood status, and what had followed. He couldn't blame Magical Creatures if they were reluctant to trust the Ministry with the knowledge of their existence, not when anti-Creature bias had been running rampant for centuries. 

"Do you have any theories?" Harry asked. "Any suggestions on what you think we should be looking for? Something you think we're missing?"

She looked at him thoughtfully, clearly surprised to have her opinion solicited. Draco seemed surprised too, perhaps because they'd not entirely ruled out Aderyn herself as a suspect. But Harry was curious to hear her thoughts. He really didn't think she was guilty, and at this point, they could use all the help they could get.

"I think it's a loner, a Veela who wasn't raised amongst our kind. They'll be unmated, and likely either very young, or very old—the young have less control, and the old are more reliant on a mating bond to stabilise them. The lack of an Aerie and a Mate, combined with the cold… it's not surprising that they keep snapping." She gave Draco a heavy stare, and Draco looked away, obviously uncomfortable. "They'll be exhausted with their body running overtime trying to maintain their energy without the augmented magic that comes from a bond. Their emotions will be frayed, and they'll likely be irritable and unpleasant to be around."

"So we're looking for somebody who seems exhausted, sick, and pissed off?" Harry didn't think that was particularly helpful—he'd never met somebody who was sick and tired who _wasn't_ pissed off.

"That would be my guess. They'll almost certainly have the other Veela traits as well, though if they're smart, they'll have been masking them. Though their ability to do so will also weaken as they spiral." Aderyn looked grim. "The fact that they've been driven to _Fury_ at least four times that we know of in the past two months is a very bad sign. Their mental state is likely deteriorating, and when that happens, it'll take less and less to set them off. They won't be able to hide that forever. If you don't find them soon, they'll make a big enough splash that you will." She shuddered, and Draco looked equally spooked as Aderyn looked directly at Harry. "You do not want that to happen, Auror Potter. Right now, this Veela has been relatively controlled in their _Fury_ , going after specific individuals who likely were the ones who set them off in the first place. But as they lose control, their _Fury_ state will also begin to destabilise."

A bell rang on the other side of the house and Aderyn stood. "On that note, is that all gentlemen? It's my night to prepare dinner, and I'm afraid I'm already running behind."

"Yes, that's all," Draco said, still pale. He exchanged another loaded glance with Aderyn that Harry didn't even bother trying to decipher as they all stood and followed her to the door. "Thank you, we'll be in touch. And don't forget to let Jasper know we'll be expecting him tomorrow."

She nodded and turned to glide away down the hall, leaving Draco and Harry to make their way back to the sleigh that was waiting for them outside.

"Was she right?" Harry asked as they settled in beneath the blanket, desperate to distract himself from the tempting press of Draco's thigh against his own. "Can the _Fury_ really be worse than what we've seen?"

Draco nodded, his lips pressed together in a severe line. Harry was disturbed to note it didn't make them appear any less kissable. "Veela can go feral, essentially permanently adopting their _Fury_ state. It's rare, thankfully, as a feral Veela is almost as difficult to subdue as a dragon. The few times in history it's been documented have been unmitigated blood baths."

"Brilliant," Harry said faintly. "No pressure or anything."

"Quite. I don't think a Christmas Massacre will be great PR for this pilot programme the Ministry's been trying so hard to get off the ground."

"Well," Harry said with false bravado. "We'll just have to solve this case before that happens. Stay focused…" His gaze caught on Draco's lips, soft and red, and trailed up to meet Draco's eyes, molten hot. Harry cleared his throat and licked his lips, his stomach jumping when Draco's gaze followed the motion. "No distractions," Harry eventually managed to choke out.

"Right," Draco agreed, though he didn't look away, didn't break their heated stare. "No distractions."


	17. Wednesday, 17 December 2008

[](https://imgur.com/0Dmx3jv)   
[IMAGE: A pair of feet in thick grey socks in front of a lit fireplace.]

"I'm just not buying it," Harry said with a shake of his head as he leaned back in his chair and put his feet up onto his desk.

"What? You think Jasper was lying about having to meet with a client yesterday?" They'd just finished interviewing Jasper who had sullenly arrived at the Ministry at half-past ten that morning. He worked as a sculpturist, and apparently a wealthy and rather demanding patron had commanded his presence yesterday. According to Jasper, the money he brought in from his work was vital to the running of the Aerie, and he couldn't afford to lose such a loyal client, no matter how temperamental. "Seems like a stupid risk. We have the name of this patron of his. It'll be easy enough to verify his story."

"No, I don't necessarily think he's lying about that, but it _does_ seem awfully convenient. He might have exaggerated his inability to reschedule."

Draco shrugged. He certainly didn't like the bloke, but he seemed like just your garden variety disliker of Draco, hardly an unusual breed. Harry seemed to find Jasper's animosity towards Draco more upsetting than Draco did, which he tried very hard not to find endearing and attractive. It had been a long, long time since somebody had cared enough about Draco to get offended on his behalf. Especially given the fact that, with all Draco had done, he wasn't exactly undeserving of people's ire. 

"But what's the motive?" Draco finally asked. It was the one big thing that kept bothering Draco. He had a feeling that if they could just figure out what was driving the Veela to go _Fury_ and kill these men in the first place, then everything else would fall into place

Harry looked thoughtful. "Well, I've been meaning to ask… Jasper and his Mate are having issues, yeah? Could that be affecting the Mate bond? The whole thing with the bond is that it's supposed to be stabilising, but if the bond itself is under duress, couldn't that have a negative effect? Maybe the tension between Jasper and Kiara is undermining the bond."

That made Draco pause. He knew, of course, that Veela could separate, but it was fairly rare, and Draco hadn't ever encountered a mated couple that was in the middle of a rough patch or break-up. He didn't know how that would affect the bond, but he supposed it was logical to assume there'd be consequences. 

"That… is definitely a possibility. If Kiara and Jasper are less stable than a normal mated pair, then they certainly would be more likely to go _Fury_ if properly provoked."

"At least two of our victims were hotheads according to their friends and family," Harry said, clearly warming to the idea. "And another was a little too free with the booze. It's not totally crazy to think they all might have got into some kind of altercation with Jasper."

"And the fourth?" Draco asked. "The older gentleman?"

Harry made a face. "Well, we can assume based on the potion he consumed that he was out either meeting somebody for sex, or hoping to find a sexual partner. We know he was married to a woman, but that doesn't necessarily mean he was straight. Maybe he propositioned Jasper? If Jasper is less grounded because of a wonky mating bond, he might also have less control of his Allure."

"And even without the Allure, Jasper's an objectively attractive man," Draco added grudgingly. His stomach fluttered at the brief flash of disgruntled jealousy that crossed Harry's face at Draco's comment.

"I guess, if you like that sort of thing," Harry muttered.

Draco raised a brow. "Tall blonds with amazing bone structure? Can't say that's my type personally, though I can certainly appreciate his… assets."

Harry's cheeks flushed the colour of his Auror robes, and he tore his gaze away, mumbling something indistinct under his breath. 

Merlin, it was getting harder and harder to be around Harry, to be so close and unable to touch. They had a case to solve, and time was running out, and all Draco could seem to see was Harry, lovely and warm and too far away. It was a massive distraction, and a soft, seductive voice had begun to whisper in his ear that maybe it would be better for their focus if they were to just give in and fuck, blow off some steam and dissipate some of the tension brewing hot between them. But no, that was just his dick—and his Veela instincts—talking. He was better than that. He had control.

Really.

He only wished it wasn't so bloody cold. 

The brief reprieve he'd experienced this weekend seemed to have been a fluke, and the past two days had found him colder than ever. All he wanted to do was go home and wrap himself up in a big blanket by the fire, put his feet up and _rest_. He felt frayed, the hold on his normally iron-tight control tenuous and slipping. It terrified him, and he'd taken to spending his nights after work curled up by a roaring fire with any book on Veela he could get his hands on, trying to determine if there was a solution to his predicament that didn't involve trying to trick somebody into agreeing to be Draco Malfoy's Mate.

"Well," Harry said, pulling Draco from his thoughts. The redness in his cheeks had faded somewhat, though it didn't make Draco want to kiss him any less. "Shall we go pay a visit to"—he looked down at the notes they'd taken during their interview with Jasper—"Raymond Carmichael and confirm Jasper's story about his whereabouts yesterday?"

Draco nodded. He wasn't looking forward to leaving the chilly Ministry for the even icier outdoors, but with any luck, Raymond Carmichael would be the rich, decadent sort who'd spent a fortune to set their Temperature Charms on high. All that blue blood tended to make the aristocracy just as cold physically as they were emotionally, in Draco's experience. 

"After you," Draco said gallantly as he stood. And if he stared a little too intently at Harry's perfect arse as he led the way out of their office, well, he wasn't made of _stone_. He might be committed to not giving in to the desire that pulsed between them, but looking was another matter entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today, but tomorrow's is a big one... :D


	18. Thursday, 18 December 2008

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, folks! We're about to earn that explicit rating! ;)

[](https://imgur.com/p67QE18)   
[IMAGE: A bed with grey sheets and pillows in front of  
a large multi-pane window next to a lit Christmas tree.]

Harry wasn't entirely sure how Draco ended up in Harry's living room at seven o' clock at night, cross-legged on Harry's sofa as he rifled through case notes amid containers of Chinese takeaway.

Well, no, that was a lie. He knew exactly how it had happened. They'd been holed up in their office for most of the day rehashing everything they knew about the case, and by the time five o'clock had rolled around, Harry was proper starving and bloody well sick of the four walls of their tiny office. He also hadn't been ready to call it a night—they were close to making some vital connection, he just _knew_ it—so he asked if Draco wanted to grab some dinner and continue working at Harry's place as they ate. Draco had only hesitated for a moment before agreeing, following Harry to his favourite Chinese restaurant and ordering a truly obscene amount of food. Twenty minutes later and they were settled in the cosiest of Grimmauld Place's living rooms, stuffing their faces as they continued bouncing ideas off one another. 

That had been well over an hour ago now, and Harry was starting to reach his limit of critical thinking for the day. He kept finding himself coming back to the location of the bodies, but his brain was too sluggish to make the connection that was just out of reach.

"I think we should go back to Hogsmeade tomorrow and do another sweep of the shops. I just know we're missing something."

Draco nodded as he stretched his arms over his head and arched his back, clearly working out some kink or ache. Harry's gaze was helplessly drawn to the pale sliver of stomach that peaked out beneath the hem of his rising shirt before he forced himself to look away and Banish some of the empty takeaway containers.

"Yeah, I think you're right," Draco agreed. "There's something we're missing, something about the area that ties them all together." He waved his wand lazily towards the parchments scattered across Harry's coffee table, gathering them into neat piles. "Plus, we can pop into Witch's Brew and see if Mari or the other barista working that day know anything about Aderyn and Jasper. Confirm their story, and see if they've seen them around before." 

Harry nodded, feeling much better with having a game plan. "We can ask the other businesses if they've seen them around, too." He made a face. "But let's try not to mention they're Veela, yeah? I don't want shopkeepers jumping to the wrong idea and using our questions to confirm their own biases. I do think we need to know if one or both of them have been hanging around the area since we _are_ looking for a Veela suspect. But I don't want to start a panic or make things worse for Veela and other Creatures than they already are."

Draco's gaze whipped to his, something fierce and glad glowing deep in his eyes, the strength of it making Harry flush. 

"What?" he asked, feeling inexplicably defensive.

Draco shook his head and smiled softly. "Nothing, just…" He laughed quietly. "I don't know why it keeps surprising me, what a good man you are. I know you think Jasper's suspicious, but you're still worried that our pursuing him as a suspect might damage public perception of Veela as a whole, particularly if he's actually innocent." Draco's eyes seemed to gleam as he looked warmly at Harry, his shoulders rolling into an elegantly dismissive shrug. "Not many Aurors would even think of that, let alone care. You were a good pick for this programme, that's all."

Harry's chest expanded at the unexpected compliment and at the unabashedly admiring look in Draco's eyes. It was nothing at all like the fawning praise heaped upon him by the wizarding public, the kind that made him feel itchy and uncomfortable and undeserving. Draco wasn't one to blow smoke up Harry's arse, and Harry puffed up with pride at the knowledge that Draco thought he was a good man. How ridiculous that Harry had got to the point in his life where a genuine compliment from _Draco Malfoy_ made him feel invincible, but he'd come to accept that he'd was falling hard and fast for his prickly partner. 

"Yeah?" Harry asked, his cheeks warm as he took a step closer to Draco. Draco looked fatigued, as had become his worrying norm, and he was still one of the most beautiful people Harry had ever seen. He stood there in Harry's living room, hair mussed, clothes rumpled, expression fond—if weary—and all Harry wanted to do was wrap him up in a hug. That would be okay, wouldn't it? It wouldn't be crossing any of those barriers they'd erected between them, right? It would only be a simple hug between friends.

Harry couldn't stop himself; he reached out and tugged at Draco's shirt, urging him forward until he was wrapped in Harry's arms. He would have stopped if Draco had resisted, if he'd seemed even the slightest bit wary, but Draco came easily, sliding his arms around Harry's waist as Harry wrapped his own around Draco's firm back. They were of a similar height, but Draco was an inch or so taller, and he rubbed his cheek against the side of Harry's head like a cat, shuddering when Harry buried his face against Draco's neck and breathed in the intoxicating scent of him. The arms around Harry's waist spasmed, and Draco drew Harry even closer, his touch desperate, needy. 

It really was supposed to be just a hug, but then Harry turned his face while Draco was still nuzzling against the side of his head, bringing their lips into passing contact. There was too much heat and want and poorly suppressed desire between them to survive even that brief touch without bursting into flames, and when their lips met again, it was with deep and purposeful intent. 

Harry had thought about their kiss by the ice rink with embarrassing regularity over the past week, trying to convince himself that the passion had been a fluke, that he was misremembering how Draco's lips against his own had made the entire world seem better and brighter. But this second kiss was just as passionate, just as toe-curling as the first, and Harry didn't think he'd be strong enough to stop them this time. If Draco wanted to be smart and call this off, Harry would respect his wishes, but there wasn't anything Harry wanted more in this moment than to take Draco to bed and explore every inch of him.

Draco, it seemed, wasn't inclined to put a stop to this any more than Harry was, arching eagerly into Harry's touch, his throat letting out little trills of pleasure that went straight to Harry's cock. They'd barely even started and already Harry hadn't ever been with somebody so responsive, somebody who was so generous and expressive when it came to making it clear just how much they wanted Harry. It was intoxicating and addictive, causing Harry's head to spin with pride and satisfaction. Harry wanted nothing so much as to make Draco feel good, to touch and worship him in the way he so clearly craved. It was obvious that Draco had gone far too long without physical comfort of any sort, which would have been painful enough for a human, let alone a Veela. Harry couldn't make everything okay for Draco, but he could give him this. 

"Bed," Draco gasped against Harry's lips, a command that Harry was all too willing to comply with, grateful that he'd cleaned his room just that weekend and hadn't yet had a chance to properly mess it up again.

He reluctantly broke the kiss and nodded towards the corridor before turning and tugging Draco along after him towards his room. Harry had been slowly cleaning up and remodeling Grimmauld Place, and his bedroom was the first thing he'd fixed up. His spacious bed was backed by a multi-paned floor-to-ceiling window, the snow-dusted tree right outside just barely visible in the twilight. Ron, who was an avid Christmas enthusiast, had convinced Harry to set up a tree in the corner of his room, and Harry couldn't deny the effect was nice, as was the fresh scent of pine that filled the space. The twinkling lights decorating the tree provided a warm glow, giving the room a close, intimate feel. Harry realised with a start that Draco was the first person he'd taken up to his room since he'd remodeled and made this space truly his own. It felt significant.

Draco seemed to sense that too, because this time, when he slid his hands into Harry's hair and pulled him into a kiss, it was less frantic, though no less heated. Draco kissed him slowly, thoroughly, a deep, devastating kiss that steadily fanned the flames between them into a raging inferno. Harry was hard—blindingly, achining hard—and he could feel Draco was similarly affected, the hot length of him rubbing tantalisingly against Harry's hip.

"What do you want?" Harry asked breathlessly as Draco began to kiss his way across Harry's jaw, nipping at a spot behind Harry's ear that made his knees buckle. Luckily, Draco was there to catch him, his hands curling possessively over Harry's hips as Harry leaned hard against him.

"I think we should get naked, for a start," Draco replied, tugging petulantly at Harry's shirt, as if that simple act should be enough to divest Harry of all his clothes at once. Harry understood the sentiment, and he reluctantly pulled away from Draco, who seemed equally displeased with the separation. But when he saw Harry hurriedly tugging off his shirt and trousers, Draco quickly joined in, stripping off his own clothes until he was entirely, deliciously bare. 

Harry stared, entranced by the sight of Draco's naked body, lit only by moonlight and the white glow of Christmas lights. His skin was pale and smooth, like ivory or white marble, his body lithe with sleek, compact muscle that belied his preternatural strength. His body seemed to be mostly free of body hair—Shaving Spells or a quirk of Veela biology?—though there was still a neatly trimmed thatch of blond curls surrounding his cock. And what a lovely, mouth-watering cock it was, long and thick, flushed pink as it bobbed with its own heavy weight. Harry wanted in his mouth, his hand, his arse. He wanted so much with Draco, he wasn't sure where to start. Harry only had to hope that this wouldn't be the only time they did this, that there'd be other opportunities for Harry to satiate the burning need in his belly, the need Harry was beginning to worry might be bottomless.

They came together again, mouths fused and hands roaming over any body part they could touch. Draco urged Harry backwards, clearly gaining confidence now that they'd both committed to seeing this through to the end. Harry fell hard on the bed, scooting back as Draco followed him down, squeezing Draco's arse and arching up against him, shuddering at the pleasurable glide of their cocks.

"What do you _want_?" Harry asked again on a moan. Whatever it was, Harry wanted to give it to him. Harry was pretty sure Draco could ask him for anything.

"Want you," Draco breathed between hot, heavy kisses. "Want your cock." Another deep, thorough snog. "Want to ride you."

Harry's dick twitched, which Draco could clearly feel judging by his smug hum of pleasure. Harry didn't mind in the slightest; the thought of Draco riding him had pretty much fried his brain.

"Yeah," he breathed, when it became clear that Draco was waiting for some kind of verbal response. "Yeah, let's do that."

Draco's chest rumbled, an inhuman sensation that reminded Harry of a cat purring. He had the oddest desire to pet Draco, run his fingers through his fine hair, across his shoulders and down his spine. He thought Draco might like that, judging from his reactions to being touched, but Harry had other things to focus on at the moment. Hopefully, he could pet Draco all he wanted after. 

"How do you want it?" Harry asked as he gave Draco's round arse cheeks an enthusiastic squeeze, his fingers dipping teasingly into his crease. "Just like this? Want me to get you ready?"

Draco lifted his face from where he'd been sucking on Harry's neck and shook his head. "Maybe next time, but I'm too keyed up for that right now; if you finger me, I'll come."

" _Fuck_ , Draco, you can't say stuff like that if you don't want _me_ to come," Harry replied. The thought of making Draco come on his fingers was incredibly appealing, and if Draco didn't seem so keen on getting fucked tonight, Harry might have pushed for them to start with that. But Harry was nothing if not a gentleman. "Spells then?"

Draco made a face that told Harry he was just as lukewarm on the spells as Harry was, though he had to admit that they were handy in situations like these.

"Yeah," Draco said, pressing himself up off of Harry with obvious reluctance, as if now that he'd started touching Harry, he couldn't bring himself to stop. Harry could relate.

"Sit up against the headboard," Draco commanded as he held out a hand to Summon his wand.

Harry did as instructed. "I thought you wanted to ride me."

Draco closed his eyes to concentrate on his silent casting, shuddering as the spells cleaned and lubed him up, a feeling Harry knew from experience was quite disconcerting. Then he tossed his wand on Harry's bedside table and prowled closer, straddling Harry's thighs and wrapping his arms around Harry's neck.

"I _do_ want to ride you," Draco whispered against Harry's lips. "But I also want to touch you. Want to feel you everywhere." He brushed a feather-light kiss against Harry's mouth before adding, almost as an afterthought, "You can bend your knees if it's more comfortable." And then he was wrapping a firm hand around the base of Harry's cock and sinking down, enveloping Harry's cock in a tight, slick heat that made Harry's toes curl against the bedsheets.

" _Draco_ ," Harry moaned as the man in question took him all the way inside, Draco's arse nestled against Harry's pelvis as his cock throbbed inside Draco's arse. It had been far too long since Harry had last had sex, and though sex had always felt good, he wasn't sure it had ever felt _this_ good, like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

On top of him, Draco's body was trembling, delicate little shivers radiating throughout his frame, making him seem somehow fragile. Harry ran his palms down the broad planes of Draco's back, hooking his fingers around sharply winged shoulder blades as he brushed his nose against Draco's.

"All right?" he asked, his voice low and lust-rough.

Draco nodded, turning his head to mouth along Harry's cheekbone, his fingers tugging at the strands of Harry's hair as he began to move his hips in small, maddening circular motions. 

"You're just so _warm_ ," Draco marvelled, his knees clenched tight around Harry's hips as his movements grew bolder. "God, I forgot what it felt like not to feel so bloody cold."

He eased up, almost pulling off Harry's cock completely before bringing himself back down again and again, gaining speed and force as he found a rhythm that seemed to work for him. It was certainly working for Harry, who was really just along for the ride at this point, his hands roaming over every bit of Draco's body he could touch as Draco rode him. Fuck, the whole thing was hotter than words, and Harry couldn't help but pull Draco in for another kiss, entwining them further until there was barely a place where they weren't touching.

"Fuck, Harry, I'm close already," Draco breathed, though his rocking motions didn't ease up. "Will you touch me?"

"'M already touching you," Harry murmured against Draco's lips, feeling slow and dizzy, drunk off the headiness of Draco surrounding him, everywhere.

Draco smiled and Harry kissed the sweet curve of his mouth. "Yeah," Draco said, his voice as dazed as Harry felt, though he still had the presence of mind to grab hold of one of Harry's wandering hands to guide it between their bodies towards Draco's dripping cock.

" _Oh_ ," Harry said as he fisted Draco's cock, feeling silly for not realising what Draco meant sooner, and wondering how he'd managed to go so long without touching the hard, silken length of Draco. He felt brilliant in Harry's hand, firm and throbbing, his precome wetting Harry's fingers. Harry wanted to make Draco come, wanted to feel him shake and clench atop him, wanted to watch his face scrunch up with ecstasy, wanted to feel the hot gush of him spilling between their bodies.

"You feel so good, Draco," Harry said as he wanked Draco, flexing his hips up into Draco's arse as Draco continued to bounce up and down. "Fuck, I could do this forever."

Draco shuddered, biting his lip as he arched his back and moved with even greater purpose. "Fuck. Not forever," Draco gasped out between panting breaths. "I want to come sooner than that."

"So do it," Harry encouraged, tightening his grip. His own orgasm was swiftly reaching its crest, just waiting for Draco to climax first. "Come all over me, Draco."

Draco unleashed another one of those inhuman sounds, this one as undeniably possessive as the fierce look in his eyes, as he met Harry's gaze and came.

As anticipated, the sight and smell and feel of Draco coming was more than enough to trigger Harry's own release, his hips arching up off the bed to bury himself more firmly in Draco's arse as he climaxed. It left him sated and drained, his body weak as a kitten's, as if he'd shot out some of his life force along with his come. Draco, by contrast, seemed revitalised, his skin glowing and eyes sparkling with a vigour Harry hadn't seen since Draco had come back into his life. Clearly Draco had been in desperate need of a good shag. The thought made Harry wilt somewhat, hit with the sudden insecurity that perhaps that really was all Draco had needed—perhaps it was the sex that mattered to Draco, and not so much the person. 

When he met Draco's eyes again though, they'd clouded over with a shy insecurity. "Regretting it already?" he snapped. Harry could tell he was going for cool and disdainful, but he wasn't able to mask the hurt as he clambered off Harry's lap, wincing as Harry's cock slid free. His reaction settled something within Harry; Draco might not want to, but he cared for Harry. This had meant something to him.

"No," Harry said hastily, reaching out to take a gentle hold of Draco's arm before he could climb out of bed. "I mean, I don't know where we go from here, or if this will come back to bite us in the arse, but I don't regret it… Do you?"

Draco shook his head, looking just as conflicted as Harry felt. Harry decided to press his advantage. 

"Stay with me tonight." Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Harry barrelled over him. "Just for the night, just to sleep. We're both knackered, and… I'd really like it if you stayed. We're too tired to properly talk things over now, but maybe we can in the morning?"

Draco hesitated, and Harry tugged on his arm until he was sprawled against Harry's chest. He looked down at Harry, fondly exasperated, and Harry grinned. "See, you're already here. Might as well just get under the covers and stay. Much easier."

"Do I at least get the courtesy of a Cleaning Charm, or am I expected to sleep here with your come sliding out of my arse all night?"

Harry hadn't realised one could feel both abashed and so unbelievably turned on at the same time, but leave it to Draco Malfoy to inspire all kinds of strange emotions in Harry. He grinned sheepishly before waving his hand with purposeful concentration, cleaning away the lube and sweat and come from them both. Draco raised a brow as if unimpressed, but he couldn't hide the appreciation in his eyes. 

"Thank you," he said graciously. "I suppose in that case, there's no reason why I couldn't stay the night. But I can't be held responsible for my actions while sleeping." A light flush dusted his cheeks as he cleared his throat. "I'm a stealth cuddler, or so I've been told."

Harry quickly squashed the truly ridiculous flare of jealousy at the implication that Draco had had past partners. Of course he had—Harry had hardly been celibate for the past ten years himself. He knew he had a tendency to be a teensy bit jealous when he really, really liked somebody, and there was no way he could possibly pretend that his feelings for Draco weren't rapidly spinning out of his control. But he hadn't been lying earlier—he was well and truly knackered, and after that spectacular orgasm, all he wanted to do was sleep, preferably with Draco wrapped around him.

"Love a good cuddle, me," Harry said with a grin, holding the comforter up for Draco to slip beneath. "Big spoon or little?"

Draco appeared to give this some serious thought before saying decisively, "Big spoon."

Harry obediently flopped down on his side with his back to Draco, wriggling in a way he hoped looked enticing and not at all like a dead fish. Draco huffed and settled in behind him. Draco's arm snaked over Harry's waist, pulling him back until their bodies were flush, Draco's nose nestled in Harry's hair.

"Goodnight, Draco," Harry murmured, beginning to drift off the moment his lids closed.

"Goodnight, Harry."


	19. Friday, 19 December 2008

[ ](https://imgur.com/Y9JoFXy)  
[IMAGE: A cup of coffee sits on top of a wooden coaster  
on a bed next to a pair of glasses and an open book.]

For the first time in what felt like months, Draco woke up warm. 

His wand wasn't yet vibrating with his morning work alarm, so Draco allowed himself to luxuriate in the perfect temperature of the sheets and blankets currently cocooning his body. He stretched and rubbed his face against the pillow, the rich scent of fresh coffee filling his nostrils. It was the tantalising smell that did it—these days, if he wanted coffee in the morning, he had to make it himself—bringing back the previous night's activities in a dizzying rush of memories that made Draco grateful he was lying down.

He'd had sex.

He'd had sex with _Harry Potter_.

He'd had sex with Harry Potter, and he _stayed he night_.

"I can practically hear you panicking over there," said the man in question from somewhere above Draco. Draco groaned and rolled over.

"I think panicking is a perfectly reasonable reaction, thank you very much," Draco replied as he opened his eyes. Harry was standing next to the bed, his face almost directly above Draco's, looking sleep-rumpled and entirely too captivating. His expression was some cross between fond amusement and cautious hope, and Draco's stupid heart leapt at the sight of him.

"Here," Harry said, shoving a steaming cup of coffee towards Draco. "I dumped a bunch of milk and half a ton of sugar in it, so it should be palatable."

Draco sat up in bed and took the cup gratefully, ridiculously touched at the gesture. He drank a generous gulp—it was indeed palatable—and gave Harry a thorough once-over, appreciating the sight of his… Partner? Lover? Friend?... clad only in a pair of tight black pants. Draco's cock stirred.

"We're supposed to talk?" Draco said reluctantly between sips. 

Harry shifted his weight between feet, his expression somewhat sheepish. "Well, the thing is, you've seemed so tired these past few weeks, and I couldn't bring myself to wake you when you looked so peaceful. So I _might_ have turned off your alarm when it went off earlier."

Draco managed to muster up a glare, but he couldn't find it in himself to be properly indignant—it was hard to be moody when he felt so incredibly well-rested for the first time in ages. "So we're going to be late for work, then?"

"Not exactly," Harry hedged. "I mean, not if we hurry.

Draco sighed. "Do I have time for a shower?"

"Should do. We've got a half hour." Harry hesitated, his cheeks reddening before he continued, "We could share, if you wanted? Save time."

Draco's lips twitched into a smile. "A big house like this, and you're telling me there's only one shower?"

Harry grinned at him. "'Course not. But the taps are awfully fussy. Could take you ages to get the temperature just right."

Draco had to admire his dedication. They really _did_ need to talk, but Draco wasn't entirely sure how that conversation would go. If they ended up deciding that last night was best left as a one-off… well, Draco thought he might as well make the most of the situation and try and squeeze one final orgasm out of the deal. 

"All right then," he agreed. "Why don't you go get those taps flowing to the _perfect temperature_. I'll finish up my coffee and meet you in there."

Harry beamed and practically skipped to the bathroom—which was both adorable and flattering—leaving Draco alone with his cuppa and his thoughts. It had been nice waking up in Harry's bed this morning, seeing Harry's smiling face first thing when he opened his eyes. He could get used to it. Which was part of the problem.

Because Draco _did_ feel so much better than he had since he'd come to Britain in the middle of winter; he was no longer quite so freezing and exhausted, and even his magic seemed to be more robust. If he concentrated, he could feel the beginnings of a connection singing between him and Harry, and he didn't think that was just him being fanciful. 

Last night had triggered the first stirrings of a Mate bond.

It was clearly in the early stages, more a signalling of potential than anything else, but if fostered it would strengthen into a proper bond. He'd never wanted a bond, had railed against it for years, but now that the possibility was there, with Harry… Draco hadn't known just how good it would feel, how _right_ , how much more like himself he felt just by having that tether. He'd not realised how much he'd been drifting these past ten years without it. And the bond was barely even there. How much better would it feel if they pursued it, welcomed it, if Draco really allowed himself to bond with his Mate?

He wanted it, and that terrified him. Because he couldn't see how Harry would possibly agree to it. How could Harry want to be so constrained? So quickly and completely tied to Draco Malfoy? Yes, they'd become friends of a sort, and Harry clearly liked Draco, was very obviously attracted to him, but hot sex and friendship were a far cry from a Mate bond. Even people without all the baggage that he and Harry had usually dated first. But Draco didn't think that would even be an option for them. The bond had formed quite spontaneously, with no urging on Draco's part, and he didn't know that he could pause the process while they casually dated and figured out how they really felt about one another. Yes, he could sever the bond altogether—though the thought of butchering the fledgling bond made him instinctively recoil—but he didn't think he could prevent it from continuing to grow or reform. His feelings for Harry were too strong. 

Draco supposed he shouldn't be surprised that this, like everything else seemed to be when it came to Harry Potter, was all or nothing.

And Draco couldn't blame Harry if he chose nothing, but the thought of it was a shard of ice in Draco's chest. He knew he needed to lay out all his cards, needed to make things clear for Harry so that Harry could make an informed decision, but maybe Draco didn't need to do it just yet. There was still a bit more time. Hell, for all he knew, Harry would be telling him shortly that this was all a mistake anyway. He might never even need to mention the potential for a mating bond at all.

"Shower's ready," Harry called out from the bathroom, just audible over the rushing water. "If you don't want to be late you'd better get your arse into gear."

Draco downed the rest of his coffee and got himself out of bed, the promise of a wet, naked Harry Potter much more alluring than his previous train of thought. 

The reality was even better than expected.

Harry's head was thrown back under the spray, tanned arms raised as he washed sudsy shampoo from his hair. Draco stripped quickly as he watched water trail down Harry's collar bones and stomach, clinging to the wiry curls of his pubic hair and dripping off the tip of his half-hard cock. Draco's mouth watered at the sight, his arse clenching as he remembered the feeling of Harry inside him just last night. Harry twisted as he reached for the soap on the shelf behind him, giving Draco a glimpse of his truly enviable arse, and Draco's cock throbbed as he thought about getting a go at it himself. Harry had seemed up for anything last night, like he wouldn't have even blinked if Draco had asked for the world. Nobody had ever looked at Draco like that. 

He didn't want to have to give it up.

But no, he wasn't thinking about that, not right now. He had a beautiful man waiting for him in the shower; everything else could wait.

"Took you long enough," Harry said as Draco pressed up behind him, ostensibly to reach for the shampoo, but mostly just to feel Harry's wet, naked back against his chest. Draco's erection prodded the small of Harry's back, tantalisingly close to the firm globes of Harry's arse. Harry arched and rubbed back against him, tempting and maddening, and _Salazar_ , if only they had time for a proper fuck.

"Turn around," Draco commanded—asked, _begged_ —mouthing along Harry's nape. Harry didn't hesitate to comply, turning and wrapping his arms around Draco's neck, kissing him for all he was worth. Their water-slick bodies slid together, the heat building between them just as quickly as it had the night before.

"Wish we had more time," Harry said between kisses. "Fuck, I want to do everything with you."

Hope leapt in Draco chest at Harry's words, hope that maybe this wouldn't be the last time they did this, that maybe Harry was falling just as quickly as Draco was, that maybe the Mate bond wouldn't put him right off. It wasn't like Harry didn't know what Draco was, hadn't been learning all about his kind and what they needed. Perhaps he wouldn't even be that surprised.

"Later," Draco replied, feeling both daring and exposed at the implication of that one word. "This will have to do for now." With that, he grabbed hold of his and Harry's cocks in one hand, encouraging Harry to do the same, the two of them creating a tight, wet space for their cocks to thrust into. It was sloppy and a little uncoordinated, but Draco didn't care—it was still blisteringly hot. Harry seemed equally entranced, gasping wetly against Draco's cheek as he got closer and closer to his release.

It didn't take long at all before they both came, first Draco and then Harry, close enough that Draco's cock hadn't even begun to think about oversensitivity. Their release circled down the drain before Draco had a chance to properly appreciate the way it looked spattered over Harry's golden skin—a pity, but at least the shower made for a quick clean-up. They stayed entwined under the spray for a little longer, Draco eager to remain in this hot, steamy bubble they'd created for themselves for as long as possible.

Unfortunately, the unmistakable blare of an Alarm Charm sounded from the bedroom, and Harry pulled away with a grimace.

"That's the ten-minute warning," he said, stepping out of the shower and reaching for a towel. "We better finish up if we want to be on time."

Draco very much wanted to tell Harry he didn't give a flying fig about work at the moment, but then he remembered the very important, very time-sensitive case they were supposed to be solving right now. He gave Harry a curt nod, and he didn't think he was imagining the wistful look in Harry's eyes as he nodded back.

"I'll be out in five."


	20. Saturday, 20 December 2008

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, you _guys_!! [@ravenclawkward-art](https://ravenclawkward-art.tumblr.com) on tumblr made fanart of Veela!Draco for this fic!! It is so amazing and stunning and (spoiler alert) the wings are perfect!! Definitely go [check it out](https://ravenclawkward-art.tumblr.com/post/189766219639/veeladraco-in-honor-of-gracerene09s-fantastic) and send them ALL the love! EEEE!!! Art!!!

[ ](https://imgur.com/blDDbR6)  
[IMAGE: A white and a red pair of thong underwear on a wooden  
floor that say "What I Think About You I Touch My Elf.]

There was no reason to be nervous.

Harry continued to tell himself this as he paced in front of the Floo in his living room, periodically checking his watch. He still had another five minutes before it made sense to head into Hogsmeade—no need to get there so early that he'd just ended up pacing in the snow instead of in his home. 

Five more minutes, and he'd get to see Draco.

Which there was absolutely _no_ reason to be nervous, because this was _not_ a date. They were going into Hogsmeade for work. They'd gone back and interviewed the various businesses within walking distance of the crime scenes yesterday, but when they'd gone to Witch's Brew, the only barista working was a girl they'd never met before. The new barista had told them that Mari would be working the closing shift the next day. They'd showed her photos of Jasper and Aderyn with no success, so Harry and Draco had agreed to return today when Mari was working to see if she could identify them.

Harry had been planning to spend his Saturday buying Christmas gifts for the friends he'd yet to buy anything for… which was all of them. One year, Harry would get his shit together, but for now, he was once again scrambling. Draco had suggested that perhaps, while they were in town, Harry could stop by the Hogsmeade Christmas market everybody had been going on about, and Harry hadn't even stopped to think before asking whether Draco wanted to come with.

Draco had seemed a little wistful at the offer, and then Harry remembered that Draco's parents were both dead and that, by his own admission, he didn't have many friends. Harry wondered if there was anybody Draco would be buying gifts for this year—if there was anybody who would be getting a gift for _him_. Before Harry could apologise for his blunder, Draco had flashed him a small smile and said he'd be happy to help Harry do his shopping since Harry could _no doubt use somebody with good taste_ to advise him on his purchases.

Harry had been ridiculously pleased.

He still was, to be honest, his heart jumping with excitement when he checked his watch again and realised it was time to go. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the Floo and out into the Three Broomsticks, waving a quick hello to Rosmerta and promising to be back for a pint later, before stepping outside and heading towards Honeydukes where he and Draco had arranged to meet. He wasn't surprised to see that Draco was already there waiting; the effect of the winter sunlight glinting off his white-blond hair was almost as blinding as the reflective snow. More blinding still was the bright smile Draco flashed his way when he caught sight of Harry, seeming so pleased to see Harry that he couldn't stop himself from broadcasting that pleasure for the rest of the world to see. 

Harry's breath caught, momentarily taken back to yesterday morning in the shower, Draco's wet body pressed up against his own, hot and slippery. His cock twitched appreciatively at the memory, and he shook himself—now was not the time, but perhaps, _hopefully_ , later. They really did need to have that conversation about what they hell they were doing, but Draco seemed just as eager as Harry to put it off for as long as possible. It appeared neither of them knew what they were on about, and Harry, for his part, wasn't keen to have common sense put a stop to something that made him feel more alive than he had in ages.

"Hi," Harry said when he reached Draco's side. He desperately wanted to reach out and touch, pull Draco in for a hug, maybe even a quick snog, but he wasn't sure if that was allowed. Draco seemed similarly inclined, his hands twitching as if to reach for Harry before he appeared to think better of it. They exchanged slightly sheepish smiles.

"Hello," Draco finally replied. He seemed just as well rested as he had the day before, and Harry wondered if he'd had another full night's sleep. There was a (very small) part of him that had hoped Draco had slept so well the night before because he was with _Harry_ , but he wasn't so much of an arsehole as to actively hope for Draco to get a poor night's sleep without Harry at his side. Draco had been beautiful even when exhausted, but it was undeniably nice to see him without the dark purple circles beneath his eyes and the heavy-footed tread of the truly weary.

"I thought we could head to the coffee shop first," Draco suggested after they traded silly smiles for a long moment. "Get that out of the way so we have the rest of the afternoon free for your shopping."

"You just want to get coffee first, admit it," Harry said as he began to walk away from the town centre and towards Witch's Brew.

Draco gave him another bright grin. "Two Bludgers, one bat," he said serenely. Harry laughed.

The café was just as sweltering as it had been every other time Harry had been there—apparently there was something wrong with their Heating Charms—and even Draco seemed to find the place a little warm this time around. 

"Is it just me, or is it even hotter in here than before?" Draco asked, tugging at the collar of his cloak.

Harry shrugged, already having slipped out of his cloak the second they walked through the door. "Might just be you. I mean, it's bloody hot in here, but it feels about the same as it always has."

Draco's brow furrowed momentarily, but his expression smoothed out as he nodded discreetly towards the register where Mari was standing, flipping through a _Witch Weekly_ with a bored, surly expression on her face. The café was empty save for the single, university-aged wizard in the corner with a pile of books and several empty coffee mugs. Though the bell tinkled when Harry and Draco had come inside, Mari hadn't deigned to look up from her apparently riveting read. Harry frowned. He hadn't remembered her being quite so dismissive when they first questioned her, not until the end when she'd realised who—or rather, _what_ —Draco was.

He exchanged a glance at Draco, who let out a heavy sigh and rolled his eyes before making his way towards the counter.

"Hello again, Mari," Draco said, his voice even and pleasant. Though by the way Mari jumped and glared, you'd have thought he'd just insulted her mother.

"Oh, it's you," she said petulantly. "What do you want?"

"Why, coffee, of course," Draco said with an overly bright smile. "And to ask you a few questions while we wait. I'll have a caramel white mocha."

"Just a black tea for me," Harry chimed in, holding out a Galleon for her.

"There's not been another murder, has there?" She gave Draco a wary look, her gaze darting over to Harry suspiciously as she rang them up before adding hastily, "I'm closing the next three days, and I'd like to know I won't be murdered."

"Nothing like that; I'm sure you're perfectly safe," Harry said, though he left off the part where it appeared their killer was only targeting males. He wasn't sure if she'd heard about the body they'd found just outside of Hogsmeade earlier that week, and he thought it best not to mention it. "We just wanted to see if you'd remembered anything else about the night Justin Folksworth was murdered—that's the man who was found in the alley across the street," Harry qualified when her brow furrowed.

"I already told you everything I know, didn't I?" she snapped as she moved over to the espresso machine and began to froth the milk for Draco's mocha. "I'd have contacted you if I thought of anything else." Her lips twisted into a derisive sneer. "You lot really don't have any idea who's going around offing people, do you? What, are you hoping I'll have magically remembered seeing the murderer wandering out of the alleyway covered in blood?"

Harry grit his teeth and tried not to snap at her. Bloody rude teenagers! It wouldn't have been so infuriating if she didn't have a point.

"No, of course not," Draco interjected calmly. "We were actually wondering if you've seen either of these two people before."

He Levitated two magical photos, one of Aderyn and one of Jasper, both of them looking as model-perfect as ever as they smiled winsomely into the camera, not unlike a Muggle actor's headshot. Mari seemed to relax as the photos floated towards her, as if she felt more comfortable now that there was a clear objective to their line of questioning. She studied them for a moment and then shrugged.

"I think so, yeah. They look familiar… I think I've seen them in the shop this month, maybe? But I couldn't tell you when. I was working with Sam, though, whenever they came in, because I remember he was at the till and they took way longer than necessary just to order two cups of tea for takeaway." She gave them a curious look. "Why, did something happen to them?"

"I'm afraid we can't discuss that," Harry said, giving Draco a significant glance. It wasn't concrete proof, but Mari's comments did seem to align with Aderyn and Jasper's story about asking for directions. "Have you only seen them once?"

Mari bristled, suddenly defensive. "If I'd seen them more than that I would have said so, don't you think?"

"Yes, I'm sure—"

"I do have actual work to do when I'm here, you know," she continued, her voice raising enough that the wizard in the corner looked up in alarm. "I don't just stand around keeping mental tabs on every single person who comes in and out of the shop. It's not _my_ job to figure out who's going around killing people!"

Draco appeared just as startled as Harry was with the sudden outburst. It seemed that they'd inadvertently hit one of Mari's buttons.

"Of course, we're sorry to have upset you," Draco said, managing to act significantly more civil than Harry felt capable of right at that moment. Draco picked up his drink from the bartop and gave Mari a kind smile. "We appreciate you taking the time to answer our questions. We'll go ahead and leave you to your work."

With that, Draco turned and strode out of the shop, leaving Harry to struggle with putting his cloak back on while holding his paper cup of tea as he followed behind him.

" _Well_ ," Draco said with feeling as they headed back towards the main square. "She was a right twat, wasn't she?"

Harry snorted into his cup of tea. "Are we allowed to call our witnesses twats?"

"Pshh. She didn't witness a thing. That's the whole problem. Bloody _nobody_ did. How does a fucking Veela in the midst of _Fury_ not attract _any_ attention? It's not exactly subtle."

"Yeah," Harry agreed gloomily. "I was really hoping she would tell us she saw Jasper and Aderyn around all the time and give us something to go on."

Draco growled before taking a large gulp of his coffee. Harry hadn't known it was possible for somebody to drink something so angrily, and he tried very hard not to find it endearing.

"Okay, time to focus on something else for the time being. If I'm forced to continue wallowing in the fact that our case is fucked, this afternoon is going to be very unpleasant."

"We can't have that," Harry agreed as they began passing shops, the Christmas market twinkling merrily in the distance. His gaze caught on a display window, exhibiting a particularly… interesting pair of knickers. He pointed it out to Draco. "How's that for a distraction? Want to see if they have them in your size?"

Draco looked at the display. 

"When I think about you…" Draco read aloud, before trailing off and turning his truly horrified gaze onto Harry. Harry burst into laughter.

"Do people actually purchase those?" Draco asked incredulously. He seemed genuinely distraught. "With their own hard-earned money"

Harry winced. "Yeah, I don't know… Must do, if they've put them on display like that."

Draco shuddered. "They do know that going without pants entirely is an option yes? Surely a little chafing would be preferable to… that."

Harry didn't reply, Draco's mention of _going without pants_ taking Harry's thoughts in a decidedly explicit direction.

"Hello? Harry?" 

Harry blinked as Draco's hand waved in front of his face. He looked amused, shaking his head as he gestured towards the market, which they'd somehow managed to arrive at without Harry noticing.

"Shall we?" Draco asked. He hesitated, then held out his arm. Harry flushed as he took it, his body shivering at their proximity.

"Yes, we shall."

* * *

Three hours later, and Harry had gifts for everybody on his list (save Draco), and if he never saw another salesperson again, it would be too soon.

" _Merlin_ , what a nightmare," Harry said over pints and pies at The Three Broomsticks. He'd been worried that Draco might not be welcome, given what he'd done to Rosmerta during the war, but apparently he'd apologised for his actions long ago and Rosmerta had forgiven him. She certainly wasn't greeting Draco quite as effusively as she did Harry, but she gave him a nod of welcome and took his order without so much as a sneer. The good food, beer, and company was an excellent balm on Harry's soul after the horror that was shopping, but as their meal began to wind down, Harry thought of something that would be even better.

"So," he began, aiming for the very picture of suave sophistication. "I was thinking… it's not a work night. Maybe you could come over to mine after this. Stay over?" 

Draco looked at Harry for a long moment with an unreadable expression as he spun the coaster around on the table. When he spoke, it was clear he was choosing his words with precision. "I don't know if that is such a good idea, Harry."

"Why not?"

Draco flashed him an unimpressed look. "You know why not. We've still not really talked about what's going on between us, what we're doing. I'm not sure if falling into bed together— _again_ —is going to help us work things out."

"So let's talk!" Draco just stared at him, as if he knew that was not at all what Harry felt like doing just then, and Harry wilted. "Yeah, all right. I do know we need to figure it out, I'm just not sure if trying to untangle everything in the middle of an important case is such a smart idea."

Draco nodded. The excuse was shit, but it seemed they were both more than happy to keep putting things off. "Yes, that makes sense."

"So come home with me anyway," Harry pressed, pushing ahead when it seemed Draco would object. "We've already had sex, and it's clear we're both… attracted to each other. I don't think going at it again is really going to change things that much, and the last thing we need is this… _tension_ distracting us."

Draco snorted, his lips twitching into a smile. "Are you trying to tell me that us having sex will make us better Aurors?"

Harry grinned back at him. "I'm not _not_ saying that. All I know is, I've spent more time today thinking about kissing you than I have about anything else."

A light flush stained Draco cheeks, and he cleared his throat as he looked down at the table. "Yes," he said softly. "I know what you mean."

Harry's heart leapt.

"Come home with me," he said again. "Please?"

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the locks managing to fall directly back into place afterwards. Harry wondered if he used some kind of spell—Merlin knew Harry's hair didn't do that.

"Okay," Draco said, holding up a hand as if to prevent Harry from jumping up and fist pumping the way he very much wanted to. "But I'm _not_ staying the night."

Harry deflated, just a little. "What, you're just gonna hit it and quit it?"

Draco looked like he'd just bit into a lemon. "Please, never say that again." He shuddered, and Harry couldn't help but grin. "If you'd like to invite me back to your place for a… nightcap, I wouldn't be opposed," Draco said, precise once more. "But you have to admit, staying the night is… it's something more serious. I like you, Harry. I think we work well together, and despite the frustrating lack of progress on our current case, I think this partnership could really go somewhere. But I've already told you that Veela can get… possessive. So until we solve this case and have that talk, I'm going to need to maintain some boundaries, for both our sakes, all right?"

Harry nodded, feeling like a bit of a dick for almost forgetting that Draco wasn't entirely human. Of course he had different considerations, and it was good he was taking them into account. Harry would let Draco set any boundaries he needed to.

He'd take whatever bits of Draco he could get. 

"Yeah, 'course," Harry said earnestly. He hesitated, wondering if he was pushing too hard, if he should back off. "You don't have to come over if you don't want. I didn't mean to pressure you. We can—"

Draco shook his head, smiling. "You didn't pressure me, Harry, and you're certainly not the only one who wants this." The look he gave Harry was pure sex, and Harry shivered. "Why don't we head to your place now, and I can show you exactly how much I want it, too."

Harry practically leapt out of his chair, and Draco flashed him a wicked grin as he stood much more slowly, sliding on his winter cloak with excruciating care. Harry's cock throbbed at the tease, and he wondered what was on the menu for tonight. Would he get to put his mouth on Draco? Would Draco put his mouth on him? Maybe he'd follow up on that hot shower they shared together, when Draco's cock had slid hot and hard against Harry's arse. 

Draco looked around the table, clearly checking to see if they'd left any of Harry's shopping behind.

"Have you got everything you need?" Draco asked as he finished fastening his cloak.

"Not yet," Harry replied, giving Draco a slow once-over. "Ask me again later."


	21. Sunday, 21 December 2008

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter is a long one!

[ ](https://imgur.com/9eZpsr1)  
[IMAGE: Christmas market at night with two large decorated Christmas  
trees on either side of a lit-up sign that says "Angel's Market".]

It was nearly nine o'clock at night, and Draco probably shouldn't be making himself a coffee so late, especially given he had to be up early for work tomorrow, but eventually the temptation for a hot drink grew too strong to ignore. It wasn't like he'd been that successful at falling asleep, anyway. All he'd been able to think about was Harry: the feeling of his skin against Draco's, the soft smile on Harry's face when he looked at Draco, the way he said _stay_ and actually seemed to mean it. The sex last night had been just as brilliant as ever, and Draco had wanted nothing more than to crawl under Harry's covers and curl up together as they had that first night. But Draco was getting too attached already, and he wasn't sure how he'd be able to give Harry up if it came to that, so he'd forced himself to Floo back home after a truly toe-curling goodbye kiss by Harry's fireplace. 

His entire body had been buzzing with hope ever since, alight with the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he and Harry could actually make this work. That maybe Harry wouldn't mind being Draco's Mate. 

To prevent himself from Flooing over to Harry's first thing this morning and pouring his heart out, Draco had spent the day going over the case for the thousandth time, reading through their interview notes, reviewing the meager evidence logs and crime-scene photos that Chang and her team had compiled, and combing Clearwater's autopsy reports for that piece he knew they were missing. Draco was certain, somehow, that they possessed everything they needed to know to determine who the killer was. They just needed to make the right connection.

Draco thought back to what Aderyn had told them in regard to what they should be looking for in a potential suspect as he prepared his coffee with plenty of milk and sugar. Somebody snappish, angry, and erratic. Jasper certainly fit that bill, and, for that matter, so did Aderyn, but enough for them to go _Fury_? The murderer was definitely a Veela, and again, Jasper and Aderyn had made no secret of what they were, but Draco couldn't discount the possibility that it was somebody unaffiliated with the Aerie. Though it would have to be someone that not even Aderyn was aware of—since she'd claimed all the non-registered Veela she knew were South for the winter—and that seemed far-fetched. A manifestation was rare enough, but it was rarer still for it to occur without anybody finding out and reporting it to the Ministry.

In all their interviews and canvassing efforts, Draco couldn't think of anybody that showed the obvious physical markers: fair hair, a distinctively melodious voice, sharp features. But sharp features could be attributed to genetics, and the others could be masked if one had the skills and was properly motivated. There was also the Allure, which would be more difficult to mask, particularly for a Veela that was clearly losing control, but that, too, could be easily dismissed as infatuation, and Draco knew from his experience as a newly manifested Veela during the war that one could accomplish the impossible with the right incentive. 

Draco took a sip of his coffee as he pondered and made a face. It was perfectly serviceable, but he'd never managed to make coffee that tasted as good as the fancy espresso drinks he could purchase at a shop. He thought fondly of Witch's Brew and the mouth-watering caramel white mochas prepared by the world's most unpleasant barista and froze, his cup falling out of his hand and shattering on the floor at his feet, splattering his legs with hot coffee and chips of porcelain.

Draco paid it no mind, his brain too busy _finally_ seeing the connection that had been right in front of their faces the whole time:

 _Mariangela_.

The girl who had looked just as exhausted and drained as Draco had felt in the cold winter. Who'd grown increasingly more unpleasant and snappish each time they'd spoken with her. Who had fine, pretty features and pitch-black hair that was obviously dyed from its natural white-blonde. Who worked smack dab in the middle of the area where most of the bodies had been found. Who was young enough to have less control of her abilities, and a likely pure-blood who'd want to hide what she was at all costs. But hiding was clearly no longer working for her because at least four men were dead, and without a Mate, an Aerie, or the appropriate schooling on controlling her abilities, it wouldn't be long for she snapped again, possibly for good.

Draco reached for his wand and cleared away the shards of porcelain and the spreading pool of coffee, and then cast his Patronus.

"Find Harry Potter," he told the silvery hawk. "Tell him I know who the killer is, and to meet me at Witch's Brew in Hogsmeade as soon as possible."

The hawk took flight, zooming straight through the Manor's walls as it sought out its target. In the meantime, Draco Summoned his Auror robes and strode off towards the Floo. He slid the robes on quickly and reached for a handful of Floo powder, calling out for The Three Broomsticks.

Rosemerta seemed surprised to see him, but gave him a solemn nod as he passed, likely realising from Draco's grim expression and official robes that something was afoot. 

"If Harry comes through, tell him I've just left," Draco told her, waiting for her confirmation before heading out into the snow. He knew it would be smart to wait for Harry, but according to his watch it was already quarter-past nine, which meant Witch's Brew would have closed for the evening. He didn't want to take the chance that Mari would get through the closing tasks quickly tonight, as they had no idea where she lived, and he didn't want to risk losing track of an unstable Veela.

He walked quickly, passing by the bustling Christmas market that was just as active at night as it had been yesterday afternoon. Draco supposed Christmas was only a few days away, and no doubt the market was full of people making last-minute purchases. Ridiculously, even with his mind filled with Mari and the case, he still managed to have the passing thought that he should really try and get Harry a present this year. Perhaps he could stop by the market. Later. After they subdued Mari and made it so she couldn't hurt anybody else. 

When Draco turned onto the street where the café was located, he breathed out a little sigh of relief. The lights were still on inside Witch's Brew, a cheery glow spilling out of the windows and into the night, staining the snow beneath them yellow. Draco could make out the form of Mari moving inside as she swept the floors. As he drew nearer, he could see how much that small bit of effort seemed to be costing her, her breathing laboured as she paused after a few seconds to lean heavily against the broom. A chill ran through Draco as he realised she was even more weakened than he'd thought. It would be easy to underestimate this frail wraith of a girl, but Draco knew better. Her apparent fragility meant that _Fury_ would be even closer to the surface, likely to manifest at the slightest provocation.

He'd almost reached the café when a faint _pop_ to his right sent him spinning, sinking into a defensive stance as he reached for his wand. His shoulder blades itched and his hands tingled—as on edge as he was, his own Veela instincts were closer to the surface than he'd like. But it was only Harry, looking agitated and tense.

"I thought Apparating from The Three Broomsticks would be faster," Harry explained as he straightened his robes, fixing an intense glare on Draco. "Because it seemed like _somebody_ thought it would be a good idea to confront a dangerous suspect _on their own_."

Draco gave him a somewhat sheepish look. "We can't risk her getting away. Not when she might go feral at any moment."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said, grim but understanding. "But you're not expendable Draco." He frowned, seeming worried and almost sad. "It's Mari, isn't it? As soon as you told me to meet you here, it was like all the puzzle pieces fell into place."

"Yes, I think so," Draco replied somberly. "It all seems to fit. We'll need to be careful about confronting her, though. She may look poorly, but she's dangerous."

Harry shivered. "I'll follow your lead, then."

A warm shudder racked Draco's frame at Harry's words, at the easy, straight-forward way he said them, as if the fact that he trusted Draco wasn't utterly amazing and remarkable. Draco very much wanted to take Harry's face between his hands and snog him within an inch of his life, but there wasn't time for that now. It would have to wait.

They crept closer to the café and peeked in through the window. Mari was at the till, slowly counting out shiny Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts, and Draco cast a quiet _Alohomora_ and eased open the door of the shop. He was hit immediately with a blast of steaming hot air that shimmered in the freezing cold of the outdoors as it left the shop, and that, too, was another clue slotted into place. Draco had a feeling that the shop's Warming Charms weren't malfunctioning at all, but rather had been tampered with to provide Mari a little extra comfort. Hadn't Draco thought that this café was the only place where the temperature had been high enough for his own chilled body?

He and Harry made their way silently into the shop, closing and locking the door behind them. Draco had cast some spells to mask their scents and tread from Mari's Veela-heightened senses, and they got within a few feet of her before she noticed their presence. Her head snapped up sharply, unnaturally, her fingers digging into the table as she started.

"We're closed," she said, her expression tense and hard, and her voice shrill.

"We're not here for coffee, Mari," Draco said softly. "We know what you've done."

Mari's expression twisted into something hateful and bitter as she let out a shriek of a laugh. "Oh, do you indeed? I suppose you think you've got it all figured out?"

"I know how hard it is, believe me, I do," Draco replied. He understood better than most that feeling of self-hatred and revulsion, like everything he'd ever thought was a lie as the very foundations of his world came down around him. "If your family is anything like mine, it must have been incredibly difficult when you manifested."

Mari's eyes brimmed with tears, but her expression was fierce. "They threw me out when they found me, covered in my own blood from the great big wings sprouted from my back. And my face—" She broke off a sob before sneering. "I had to get a job here just to survive, like some kind of commoner. Did you know one of my coworkers is a _Squib_?" It was clear that her newfound Being status had not done much to change Mari's bigoted views. Mari had done some truly horrible things and she'd pay for her crimes, but Draco couldn't help but feel desperately sorry for her. If she'd only grown up in a less hateful family, she might have had more of a chance. The loathing that had been instilled in her from birth had prevented her from seeking the help she needed, and look what happened? Draco was well aware he'd only narrowly escaped a similar fate himself. 

"Why did you hurt those men, Mari?" Draco asked. As she'd been talking, Harry had begun to edge around the room out of her sight line so they could come at her from multiple angles if she wouldn't capitulate, something that seemed increasingly likely. Draco wanted to keep her focus on him until Harry was in position. 

Mari's eyes flashed with contempt. "They deserved it," she said angrily, her voice edging into a screech. There was a scraping sound, and Draco looked down at the counter where large gouges were being dug out of the wood with the talons that were sprouting from Mari's fingertips. Draco swallowed.

"They wouldn't take no for an answer," Mari continued, the gouges growing deeper. "They all thought that I owed them something, a pretty girl like me who was only a barista, nobody important. Nobody who _mattered_. It served them right, after trying to take what wasn't theirs, as if I were an object they had the right to touch however they liked!"

Draco's chest constricted. She might be deeply prejudiced, and she had no right to take vengeance into her own hands, and so violently, but he had some small idea what it was like to be seen as an object, to have others view you as a thing for them to use and discard as they pleased. He understood the pain of it, the helpless and reckless anger, and it was no stretch at all for Draco to see how that could have driven somebody like Mari straight into _Fury_. It didn't excuse it, didn't make what she'd done okay, but what those men had done hadn't been okay, either.

"I'm sorry that they tried to hurt you," Draco said sincerely. "But that doesn't mean you had a right to kill them."

"I didn't mean to!" Mari shrieked. "Not at first. I didn't even realise what had happened the first time. I came to in my flat, covered in blood, and then I heard about the body they'd found the next day."

"But you did it again, and again. You didn't try and get help."

"Help?!" Her voice was even higher now, and the air around her began to shimmer ominously. "And who was I to ask for help, the Ministry?" She let out a strange, squawking scoff. "As if the Ministry has ever done anything to help our kind. They'd've chucked me straight into Azkaban and been done with it."

At that moment, Harry bumped into a small table and Mari whirled towards him, her expression thunderous.

"You! You're here to do the same, aren't you? But you can't! I won't let you take me to Azkaban. It's"—her face began to distort—"too"—wings began to burst from her back—" _cold_!" With a final, blood-curdling screech, she hit full _Fury_. 

Her hair, now stripped of its artificial colour, streamed behind her in a mass of white-blonde ripples, as if blowing in an invisible wind. A large, slightly hooked beak jutted out of her face, and massive grey wings fluttered behind her. Hovering above each taloned hand were two orange, glowing fireballs, and with a furious scream, she hurled one at Harry, barely missing him as he dived for cover behind a chair. She threw the second, and it dissolved into a hiss of steam as Harry managed to counter it with a jet of water from his wand.

In the several seconds that it took for all of this to occur, Draco lost his mind.

He forgot about the case, about the pity he'd felt for Mari, about serving justice; every single cell in his body screamed in fury that somebody _dared_ attack his Mate. He was so focused, so lost in rage, that he didn't even register the pain of transformation as his own body twisted and changed.

Two more fireballs were beginning to form in Mari's hands when Draco let out his own ear-splitting, frenzied shriek, effectively drawing Mari's focus away from Harry and onto Draco. Harry had been shooting a barrage of spells and hexes at her from behind an overturned and slightly charred table, but Mari immediately clocked Draco as the bigger threat, dancing around to face him. The multi-coloured jets of spellwork momentarily paused, and Draco wasn't cognisant enough to reason that it was likely because Harry was frozen by the unexpected sight of his lover as a savage, bird-like monster. Instead, all Draco's hindbrain could reason was that Harry must no longer be fighting because he was _hurt_ , and he let out another preternatural scream of rage as he threw a veritable column of fire at Mari and dove for her neck with his outstretched talons.

He was bigger, more experienced, and more anchored than Mari, and the only Veela more deadly than one protecting its Mate was a mother defending its young, but that didn't mean Mari was easy prey. She'd already killed at least four times, apparently without much remorse, and unlike Draco, she didn't have anything to lose. With a great flap of her wings, she managed to lift herself several feet off the floor; she dodged what would have likely been a killing blow, though the left side of her uniform had caught fire, the feathers of her left wing were badly singed, and her leg was dripping blood from the deep gouge where Draco had been able to jab at her with his beak. She'd got him back with two smaller fireballs of her own, and his shoulder bubbled and blistered beneath the flames before a stream of water appeared like magic to put it out. 

_Harry_.

Draco trilled in pleasure at the knowledge that his Mate was alive and well enough to cast magic. All he wanted to do was go and check Harry over to make sure he was truly all right, but Draco had to neutralise the threat first. Behind him, he could hear Harry shouting something, but words and language were beyond him, and he focused his attention back on Mari, who was sluggishly forming two more fireballs from where she was cowering behind the counter.

There wasn't all that much room to manoeuvre in the shop, especially given that Veela instincts were adapted for aerial fighting. Draco would much prefer to come at his prey from a greater height, but the top of the shop would have to do. With a great beat of his wings that sent half the chairs in the shop clattering across the floor, Draco rose up in the air until his wingtips brushed up against the ceiling. Which was really only a few feet high and immensely unsatisfying, but he could still see Mari perfectly from his vantage point, her black eyes burning just as fiercely as the fireballs in her hands.

Their eyes met, and Draco let out a hoarse screech before he swooped towards her. She threw both fireballs at him, getting him on the arm and leg, though Draco was too hyped up on adrenaline to notice. He hit her at full speed and they both went rolling into the wall, a tangle of talons and beaks and thrashing wings. Draco clearly had the upper hand, but Mari was getting a number of hits in herself, and he felt a flicker of apprehension from somewhere deep in the recesses of his brain at the blood loss and extensive burns he was sustaining. But that worry was buried deep within him, the rest of his energy focused on subduing his prey and neutralising the threat to his Mate by any means necessary.

After several minutes of struggle, Draco got Mari pinned, his talons digging into her wrists and his sharp beak poised over her throat. He wanted to dart forward and snap her neck, ensure she never touched so much as a hair on Harry's head ever again, but some part of his brain was clamouring for attention, urging him to stay his beak.

A hand, soft and gentle, settled on Draco's unburned shoulder and he started, turning to hiss at the intruder before he recognised Harry, the scent and sight and sound of Harry's soothing voice managing to bring Draco a little more fully into himself. He cocked his head at Harry, his grip on Mari unrelenting, and bit by bit, the words Harry was speaking began to make sense.

"That's it, Draco. You've done so well. You've caught her. She won't hurt anybody anymore. You've just got to let me properly subdue her so we can take her in to the Ministry. You've done your part."

Draco let out a trill of confusion, the instinct to kill his quarry warring with the desire to please his Mate. Harry smiled at him, reaching out as if to touch. His hand paused just shy of Draco's cheek, until Draco arched up and nuzzled against his palm. Harry's expression was full of wonder, and Draco puffed up with pride at his ability to protect his Mate. He'd already looked Harry over as he'd spoken and was satisfied that there wasn't so much as a scratch on him. It made him feel marginally more charitable towards his captured prey.

"Will you let me bind her," Harry asked, nodding towards the ground where Draco still had Mari pinned in a daze. "We need to get her sorted, and then get _you_ to Mungos." He was speaking lightly, but Draco could see the worry in his eyes, and Draco let out another trill as he nuzzled more firmly against Harry's palm. Harry shouldn't ever be sad, not when Draco was here to provide for him.

"You're hurt, Draco," Harry said, his voice shaking a little. "Will you let me take care of you? Please?"

That was what did it. The knowledge that his Mate wanted to care for him, the way it was supposed to be. Draco let himself be guided off Mari to sit back against the wall while Harry worked. He clapped a set of magic-dampening handcuffs around Mari—ones that had been formulated specifically with Magical Creatures in mind—as Harry recited her rights. He cast a Patronus and gave the glowing stag a message to deliver to the Auror responsible for handling new prisoners—she was too much of a risk to send directly to St Mungo's but one of the Ministry's on-site Healers would need to see to her immediately. Once it had gone galloping off into the distance, Harry took out one of the Portkey buttons all Aurors carried to transport prisoners directly into the holding cells and affixed it to Mari's singed shirt. With a tap of his wand, the Portkey was activated, and a moment later, Mari was gone, leaving Harry and Draco alone in the destroyed café.

While Harry had processed the arrest, Draco's higher consciousness had slowly been restored, the frenzy of _Fury_ receding. Normally when this happened, the manifestations of _Fury_ disappeared as well, and though the beak and talons had thankfully been banished, his wings were still very much there, pressed up uncomfortably against the wall behind him. In the absence of _Fury_ Draco also become jarringly aware of his many severe injuries, and his breath escaped him in wretched gasps as the pain from the burns and deep gouges began to overwhelm him. Harry, finished with Mari, rushed to his side.

"Draco! Are you back? Fuck, this looks even worse than before."

"Sorry," Draco grunted out. Shame burned through him as he realised how much he'd lost control, that Harry had seen him so wild and unhinged. "I didn't mean to—"

"Don't you dare," Harry snapped. "Before you went _Fury_ , she was batting away my spells like they were mildly annoying flies. None of the standard-issue combat spells we use to safely subdue criminals appeared to affect her at all. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been able to take her on like that." He clasped Draco's hands with his own and met his gaze. "Thank you."

Draco soaked up the praise. Now that he was no longer being ruled by instinct, he could acknowledge that Harry wasn't technically, _officially_ , his Mate, but he couldn't stop the pleasure that rushed through him at Harry's pride and approval. 

"You didn't think—" Draco broke off, feeling needy and embarrassed, but he continued, unable to help himself as he looked at the floor, "I know it's not… nice, seeing me like that." 

"Draco," Harry said gently, and then again, more firmly, "Draco, look at me."

Draco looked up and met Harry's gaze, his breath catching at the honest wonder in Harry's eyes as he said, "You were incredible, Draco. I've never seen anything so amazing. You shouldn't be ashamed of it."

Draco hesitated, hope welling up in him at Harry's declaration, unsure of how to respond. But the pain was growing ever-greater, and a sudden throb in his calf from where his melted trousers had become fused with his burned skin caused him to let out an anguished whimper.

"Shit, Draco, we need to get you to Mungo's _now_. Do you think you can walk?"

Draco made an attempt to stand and nearly screamed as a wave of agony ripped through him, leaving him sweating and panting and shaking his head 'no'.

" _Fuck_ ," Harry said with feeling. "All right, then we'll have to activate one of the St Mungo's Portkeys." He rummaged around in his pocket for a button similar to the one he utilised to send Mari to the Ministry prison cells, only this one was lime green instead of blood red, and was used to rush critically injured Aurors or criminals to an accident and emergency platform at St Mungo's.

"This will probably hurt, but it's the only way I can think to get you there."

Draco grit his teeth. "That's fine, just do it." Harry reached for him, but Draco put out a hand to stop him as he realised… "Wait, what about my wings?"

Harry looked up at them, as if he hadn't even registered that Draco still had a great big bloody (literally) pair of white-feathered wings growing out of his back. Harry's brow furrowed. "What about them? It's not like the world doesn't know you're a Veela, and I'm sure the Healers have seen weirder things."

Draco nodded reluctantly, not sure how to give voice to the insecurity still buried inside him, the one that was still hurt whenever people sneered at him, even if he deserved it, or the one that hated the thought of giving people further proof of what he'd become just so that they could find a way to twist it against him. But Harry was right; they already knew what Draco was, he had no idea how to get rid of the wings in the first place, and judging by the way the room was beginning to spin, Draco didn't have the time to figure it out.

"Yes, yes, all right," Draco said, holding out the arm that was the least injured. "Let's go before I pass out."

Harry looked extremely alarmed at this pronouncement and hastened to attach the Portkey to Draco's robes as he grabbed hold of Draco's outstretched arm. The world around them began to twist and squeeze, and Draco's body screamed in excruciating protest.

And then, everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fun fact! Mari's full name, Mariangela, is the contracted form of Maria and Angel and means ‘rebel angel’. :D


	22. Monday, 22 December 2008

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy first day of Chanukah for those that celebrate! <3

[](https://imgur.com/izc9ZT9)   
[IMAGE: A glass figurine of a stag.]

Thirty-six hours. Draco (and by extension, Harry) had been in St Mungo's for thirty-six hours, and the Healers weren't showing any signs of letting Draco out anytime soon. Draco _looked_ fine to Harry, the hours of potions and various Healing Spells seeming to have done their job. Harry shuddered as he remembered arriving at St Mungo's via Portkey last night, only to realise Draco had gone limp and lifeless in his hands, blood still streaming from the gashes all over his body, and his skin shiny and waxy where it had been badly burned. Harry _might_ have lost the plot, just a bit, but a firm and cool-headed Healer had quickly taken charge, getting to work on Draco right away while a kindly Mediwitch forcibly restrained Harry from following Draco into the operating room.

But Draco seemed just _fine_ now, his skin still in the process of regrowing and knitting itself together but looking much better than it had when they arrived. He was sitting up in bed, though that was partially because his wings—his amazing, incredible, _beautiful_ white-feathered wings—were still very much visible. Draco was incredibly put-out by this fact, as apparently it made it rather difficult to sleep comfortably given that half his body was in the process of regenerating. Harry, on the other hand, quite liked the wings, and wouldn't mind if they stuck around a little longer. Or, at least long enough for Harry to work up the nerve to ask Draco if he could touch them. 

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked Draco anxiously, for what was probably the one-hundredth time judging by Draco's fond but exasperated expression. 

"I'm fine, Harry, just as I was ten minutes ago, which was the last time you asked." He made a face and wriggled around in the bed a little, his wingtips fluttering. "Just a little itchy. And hungry. I appreciate that Mungo's has been taking my need for additional food into account given I'm an injured Veela, but I don't think I can bear to eat another double-helping of whatever it is they're hoping to pass off as food for dinner." He gave Harry a beseeching look and fluttered his lashes becomingly. "I don't suppose I could convince you to bring me something a little more palatable?"

Harry hesitated. He knew from his past injuries on the job that St Mungo's food was hardly the most enjoyable, and he had an overwhelming desire to do whatever it took to make Draco more comfortable. On the other hand, getting Draco food would involve Harry leaving his side, which filled him with a ridiculous and irrational anxiety. He'd even slept here last night, the Mediwitch-in-charge reluctantly Conjuring him a spare camp bed when Harry refused to leave. 

Well, he might not want to leave and get Draco food, but that didn't mean somebody couldn't _bring_ them something to eat.

Flashing a grin at Draco, Harry stood and cast, " _Expecto Patronum_!"

Instantly, the familiar shining, silvery form of his stag Patronus burst into being, nuzzling affectionately at Harry's shoulder.

"Hey there, boy," Harry said with a smile. "Go find Ron and ask him if he'll bring me and Draco something delicious to eat. We're still at St Mungo's."

The moment he finished with his instructions, his Patronus was off in the direction of Weasley Wizard Wheezes, where Ron was currently working. December was an incredibly busy month for the joke shop, but Harry guessed Ron would at least be able to sneak away for a half hour or so to grab some food and bring it over to them. Harry had owled Hermione and Ron last night, filling them in on what had happened, so at least Ron wouldn't be surprised about Harry being at St Mungo's.

Of course, Harry _hadn't_ told either of them yet about what was going on between him and Draco—mostly because Harry still wasn't sure himself. He and Draco had agreed to wait and talk things over once they'd solved the case, which they'd done last night. But given that Draco was in the hospital healing from the injuries he'd sustained during the solving of said case, Harry figured it was best to wait just a little bit longer. 

Even though the suspense was killing him. 

Even though he wanted nothing so much as to tell Draco how he felt and pray that Draco felt the same.

"Only you would use a Patronus—one of the most difficult spells to effectively cast—for food delivery," Draco said with a laugh, pulling Harry from his thoughts.

Harry's lips twitched into a smile. " _You're_ the one who wanted food! I'm just doing as you requested."

"What I _requested_ was for you to go and get me the food yourself," Draco said. His expression gentled as he continued, "Harry, you've been here as long as I have, and I doubt you slept a wink last night, even on that dreadful bed, if you can even call it that. You really should go home and get some rest." He wrinkled his nose. "And perhaps a shower. I'm fine here, really."

Harry set his jaw stubbornly. "I know you're fine, but I want to be here. I… I know how shitty it can be to be cooped up here all alone."

Draco looked as if he wasn't sure if he felt touched by the sentiment, or offended by the show of pity. "Yes, that's all well and good, but don't we have a case to finalise? Reports to make? Notes to file?"

Harry beamed at him. "Excellent point." He reached into the satchel leaning against his chair and pulled out a stack of parchments. "Robards stopped by this morning while you were in with the Healers. I told him I wanted to stay here with my partner, and he agreed. He's handling all the stuff at the office, officially charging and questioning Mari, etc. But he brought us our files for us to complete our account of what happened last night. I knew you'd be dead bored here, so I figured I could share the paperwork."

Draco gave him an unimpressed look, but the twitching corner of his lips belied his amusement. "How thoughtful of you. Though isn't one of the perks of being injured on the job _not_ having to deal with all the tedious forms?"

Harry snorted and Levitated a stack of files to the tray on Draco's lap. "Psshh, you don't fool me. I know you live for paperwork."

Draco let out a long-suffering sigh, but didn't deny it, and they spent the next hour going over the confrontation last night and writing up their accounts. Harry had just got to the part where Draco had pinned Mari to the ground and was looking like he was about to go for her throat, when somebody knocked on the open door.

"Somebody ordered food delivery service?" Ron said from the doorway, holding up a large brown paper bag that smelled like oregano and cheesy tomato sauce. Harry's stomach rumbled.

"Cheers, mate, you're a lifesaver. Where'd you end up going?" Harry said, gratefully pushing the parchments aside

Ron came into the room and put the bag down on the table under the window, pulling out a large dish of his homemade lasagna. He looked slightly wide-eyed as he glanced over at the large wings looming over Draco, but he didn't say anything about them, just shook his head and focused on the food.

"I made extra lasagna last night, so I popped home and grabbed the leftovers. I thought it'd be easier than trying to wade through Diagon just a few days before Christmas for some grub." He turned to Draco, a surprisingly genial expression on his face. "I hope that sounds all right to you. I know when I'm poorly I crave something warm and comforting, and there’s nothing more comforting than homemade lasagna."

Draco's eyes seemed suspiciously bright as he nodded at Ron. "Yes, that sounds perfect, actually. Thank you so much for bringing it. The food here leaves much to be desired."

Ron grinned, and the expression didn't even look forced as he began to dish up the food. "'You don't have to tell me that. I had to stay here overnight a few years ago after a little mishap at the joke shop, and I wasn't sure what was worse, having to regrow all the bones in my left hand or having to eat the slop they tried to tell me was dinner."

Harry snorted. Ron had been even worse than Draco when it came to begging for something proper to eat, and he didn't even have the excuse of Veela biology. "Our Ron's quite the gourmand," Harry teased. 

"Nothing wrong with appreciating good food, Harry," Draco said with a sniff.

"Exactly!" Ron agreed, passing Draco a generous helping of lasagna. 

"Thank you, Weasley," Draco said as he took the plate. "I really do appreciate it."

"No problem at all," Ron said. He hesitated, before adding on awkwardly, "And it's Ron. I've got a feeling you'll be sticking around for awhile, and I have loads too many siblings for you to be calling us all Weasley."

Draco's eyes widened in surprise—Harry knew how he felt—and he nodded mutely before digging into his food with an appreciative moan that made Ron puff out his chest with pride.

"All right, mate," Ron said after he'd dished Harry up a serving and passed him the plate. "I need to get back to the shop before our new assistant, Jonathon, burns the place to the ground." He turned to Draco. "Nice to see you again, Malfoy. I hope you feel better soon. Harry—" He broke off and gave Harry a significant look, the kind that told him Ron had all but put together that something was happening between Harry and Draco, and would be expecting a full report soon. His expression was cautious, a little guarded, but ultimately accepting—Ron might not fully trust Draco yet, but he trusted Harry's judgement. Asking Draco to call him 'Ron' and bringing Draco homemade lasagna was as good as giving the relationship his blessing. "We'll talk soon, yeah?" 

Harry nodded, his insides warm from Ron's show of support. It made him think that maybe this thing between him and Draco could really work, could become something real. 

"Yeah," he said, his voice thick. "I can come over to yours for dinner?"

Ron nodded. "Soon," he said, giving Harry one last firm look before slipping out the door and leaving Harry and Draco alone to eat their body-weight in cheesy pasta.

Once they'd finished eating, Draco cleared his throat. "So," he began, his expression nervous as he picked at a loose thread in the bedsheets. "We should probably talk about… us. And what happened last night."

Harry heart leapt—he was wondering if Draco would bring it up. Not just the status of their maybe relationship, but the fact that last night, when Draco had gone _Fury_ , Harry had _felt_ it.

Given what Harry knew about Veela, and Draco's insistence that they keep things more casual until they had defined their relationship, it didn't take a genius to make the leap; somehow, a Mate bond had begun to form between them.

Judging from Draco's anxious expression, he was worried about bringing it up, about Harry's reaction. But Harry knew that if there was some kind of Mate bond between them, Draco hadn't purposefully set out to create it, and, truth be told… Harry kind of liked the idea of it. For most relationships, this would be way too early to form that kind of connection, but this was far from a usual relationship. Not only because of Draco being a Veela, but because of their past and the history they shared. Things had always been intense between them, and Harry wasn't surprised that this wasn't any different. 

Of course, Harry knew it wasn't as simple as all that. He had no idea how _Draco_ felt about the bond, and last he heard, Draco was quite adamantly against having a Mate. Not to mention, Harry wasn't entirely sure what exactly this bond entailed, and he knew he should learn more about it before jumping in feet-first. Still, Harry was open to the idea, wanted _Draco_ to be open to it, and though this was absolutely a conversation they needed to have, given they were both sleep-deprived and Draco was hopped-up on pain potions, it was probably best to wait.

"Yes, we should," Harry said slowly, his heart clenching at the hope and trepidation on Draco's face. "But we should wait to have that conversation until after you're out of Mungo's and no longer on pain potions."

Draco perked up at the apparent reprieve, but then his face hardened with determination. "But there's something you don't know, something I need to—"

"Draco," Harry said loudly, cutting him off with a severe look. "I know more than you think, and I'm not upset, not about any of it. But what we have to talk about is important, and I want to make sure we're both entirely clear-headed when we do."

Draco gave him an inscrutable look, and Harry wasn't sure if he was imagining that Draco seemed a little less tense after Harry's revelation that he wasn't upset about anything that happened. After a long moment he nodded, then turned his attention to the dirty plate in front of him, casting a Cleaning Charm before Levitating it over to the table.

"All right then," he said pensively. "We'll wait until I get out of here."


	23. Tuesday, 23 December 2008

[](https://imgur.com/zcaJTM5)   
[IMAGE: A pile of red, green, and gold-wrapped Christmas presents.]

Today was the day. After much wheedling, begging, and pleading, the St Mungo's Healers had _finally_ relented and had said that Draco could go home. Well, not _his_ home, exactly, because the condition of his release was that he stay with somebody for the next twenty-four hours just in case something went wrong. Harry, who'd barely left his side the past two days, had been quick to volunteer Grimmauld Place. 

Draco couldn't pretend Harry's immediate offer hadn't filled his chest with warmth, even if he was a little annoyed at having to be looked after like a child. He was _fine_. Yes, his blasted wings were still out and proud, refusing to disappear no matter how hard Draco willed them away. And _yes_ , okay, so maybe the Healers had been horrified to discover just how depleted his magical core had become, and how malnourished his body was, given how much energy he'd been using to keep himself going without a Mate to lend him their magic. But with the potions, fortified food, and the tentative new Mate bond with Harry giving him strength, he was practically good as new! Certainly his skin was all but healed from the burns and lacerations he'd sustained during the tussle with Mari, the only mark on his body a faint pink line on his thigh from where Mari's talons had gouged him practically to the bone. Though even that would likely be gone by morning.

"All ready to go?" Harry asked cheerfully, pushing a wheelchair through the open door.

"Oh no you don't!" Draco said, backing up against the wall. "I'm perfectly capable of walking out of here on my own two feet."

Harry looked as if he was trying to seem regretful, but the effect was rather ruined by his poor attempts to stifle his own laughter. "Sorry, Draco. It's policy. The Healers said if you want to leave now, you've got to be wheeled to the Floos."

"That is the _stupidest_ thing I've ever heard," Draco said venomously. He really did want to leave though, the sooner the better, and he could tell by the stubborn set to Harry's jaw that he wouldn't be budging. So Draco reluctantly stepped forward and sat down in the horrid contraption as majestically as he could, _accidentally_ whacking Harry in the face with one of his wings as he settled. "Sorry," he said in a tone that conveyed how very _not_ sorry he was. "It's like they have a mind of their own."

Harry rubbed at his jaw and gave Draco an unimpressed look, but quickly perked up as he realised he would get to push Draco around St Mungo's like an invalid. 

"Just a moment," Draco said as Harry began to push. He slipped his wand out of his holster and cast a quick Glamour on his wings—there wasn't any need for anybody else to see them.

"Oh," Harry said, sounding almost disappointed. "Were you able to get rid of them this whole time?"

Draco shook his head. "No, it's just a Glamour. I don't really feel like being gawked at any more than I already will be. I'll remove it when we get to your place."

"That's all right, then," Harry said, sounding much more pleased as he began to wheel Draco down the corridor and towards the St Mungo's Floos. Draco's face burned with embarrassment and he averted his eyes, unsure of what he'd see in the faces of the people he passed, and not all that keen to find out.

Thankfully, there was plenty of decor to distract himself with, as St Mungo's had apparently gone all-out for Christmas. The various portraits they passed were all decked out in their holiday finest, and the walls and administrative spaces were covered in an excess of tinsel and lights. In the welcome area, there was even a large tree that filled the several-stories-high space, resplendent with singing ornaments and woodland fairies that darted about its branches, gnawing on the needles. Beneath the tree were piles of beautifully wrapped presents in red and green and gold, the paper shining and glittering beneath the twinkling lights, to be unwrapped by St Mungo's' permanent residents on Christmas morning. 

It had been almost easy to forget it was nearly Christmas the past several days, cooped up as he'd been in that musty old hospital room. The blatant reminder of the holiday wasn't exactly a pleasant one. He felt a flash of loneliness, despite the fact that he'd hardly been alone at all over the past few days. Not only had he been surrounded by Healers and Mediwix, but Harry had been a constant presence. He'd also been visited by Robards and Julep, and more surprisingly, both Chang and Clearwater had made an appearance to wish him well. Draco suspected they were there more out of support for Harry than for Draco himself, but he, Harry, and Chang had shared a surprisingly robust conversation about the current Quidditch standings—he'd forgotten that she'd played back at Hogwarts—and Clearwater had brought him a tin of homemade toffee that was much tastier than expected. Draco wondered if maybe, someday, these colleagues of his could turn into friends, if he could make a life for himself here. 

"Okay, here we are," Harry said, pulling Draco from his thoughts. Draco looked around, noting the bank of Floos in front of them. He glanced meaningfully at Harry.

"Am I allowed to get up now? Or am I expected to try and wheel myself into the fireplace?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't be a prat."

Draco considered nettling Harry some more, but decided he'd much rather get out of this stupid chair and away from St Mungo's entirely. He stood and reached for the bowl of Floo powder, stepping towards the grate and nodding at Harry before walking into the green flames and calling for Grimmauld Place.

He stepped out into a living room that was just as cosy as he remembered, though he couldn't help but flush as his gaze landed on the sofa where he and Harry had shared their second kiss, the one that had led to Harry taking him to bed. Merlin, had that really been less than a week ago? It felt like half a lifetime, and now, staring blankly at the worn fabric, all Draco could think about was how desperately he wanted it to happen again. But for that to occur, they'd have to talk first and finally have that conversation they kept putting off.

A whoosh sounded behind him and Harry stepped out of the fireplace, dusting soot off his robes and flashing Draco a crooked smile that made Draco want to kiss him even more than he usually did.

"Good, you got here all right," Harry said, though he frowned as he looked somewhere over Draco's left shoulder. "Your Glamour's still on."

Draco huffed a laugh. "I've been here for two seconds," he protested, but he still reached for his wand and undid the Glamour, his stomach flipping at the obvious admiration in Harry's gaze as the great white monstrosities were revealed. Draco couldn't help but preen a little, his feathers ruffling and wingspan spreading to display his wings to full effect. Harry let out an appreciative gasp, his eyes wide, before a deep red flush spilled over his cheeks and down his neck. He coughed, tearing his gaze away.

"Um, right," Harry said distractedly. "Why don't I show you where you'll be sleeping tonight."

"Am I not sleeping with you?" Draco blurted out, causing his own cheeks to flush. He'd not meant to say that aloud. Draco cleared his throat. "Erm, I mean, wouldn't that make it easier for you to, um, check on me?"

Harry gave Draco a hopeful look. "I didn't want to assume. You said before that you didn't think we should sleep together before we talked about what's happening between us."

"And we can't"—Draco yawned, sudden exhaustion hitting him like the Hogwarts Express—"talk now?"

Harry's expression was amused and indulgent. "As much as I would very much like that, you're practically dead on your feet; I think you need to get some rest first."

"Pish-posh," Draco said, letting out another jaw-cracking yawn. He swayed a little on his feet, his wings flaring out behind him to stabilise his balance and prevent him from falling on his face. Harry raised his eyebrows and Draco sighed. "Yes, yes, all right, you win. But"—he swallowed and looked down at the floor, feeling vulnerable—"if you wanted to share a bed, I wouldn't mind. Though I also wouldn't blame you if you didn't. I have no idea what these wings of mine will do when I'm sleeping."

Harry cupped Draco's cheek, his fingers sliding back through Draco's hair to scritch at his scalp, and Draco shuddered with pleasure. All he wanted to do was wrap Harry in his arms, bury his nose against Harry's neck, and never let him go.

"I don't mind," Harry said softly, "Let's go to bed."


	24. Wednesday, 24 December 2008

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another big one! <3

[ ](https://imgur.com/Xgx5eTO)  
[IMAGE: Large angel made up of Christmas lights  
suspended above Regent Street in London at night.]

Harry woke up slowly, stretching out on his bedsheets and luxuriating in the feeling of warmth against his back, the gentle glow of the morning sun filtering through the window behind his bed and dappling the covers with muzzy light. He pressed a smile into his pillowcase as Draco's arm—which had managed to wrap itself around Harry's waist during the night—tightened and Draco's nose nuzzled against Harry's neck as he, too, began to wake up.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked, his voice rough with sleep as he wriggled back into Draco's embrace.

Draco hummed and gave Harry one final squeeze before releasing him. Harry immediately missed his warmth and made to protest as Draco replied, "Like I've got to piss. Give me a minute."

Harry supposed it would be churlish of him to resent Draco extricating himself from the cuddle so he could take care of a basic bodily function, so he didn't complain. Instead, he flopped over onto his back. The room smelled deliciously of pine from the tree in the corner, and Harry waved his arms purposefully in its direction, grinning when the lights—which were Charmed to turn off automatically at midnight—came on. He felt warm and lazy, and he thought that today seemed like one of those days that was best spent in bed. 

Preferably with Draco. 

Unfortunately, when Draco came back into the room—looking mouthwatering, clad only in a pair of tight black pants, his gorgeous white wings fanned out behind him—it seemed he had other plans. He gamely climbed back into bed, sitting up against the headboard as much as his wings would allow as he pulled the sheets back up over his lap. Then he gave Harry a _look_ that said there would be no rolling about in bed together until they finally had their talk.

Harry sighed and pushed himself up to sitting. "We doing this now, then?"

Draco nodded. "I think so."

"Yeah, all right," Harry said, running a hand through his hair and deciding to jump straight to the heart of the matter. "So, looks like I'm your Mate."

Draco blanched before quickly schooling his expression and giving Harry a severe look. He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like " _Bloody tactless Gryffindors!_ " before saying, at full volume, "I wouldn't necessarily put it like that, but yes, the _beginnings_ of a Mate bond has been initiated between us. I suspected that might have been the case after the first time we… had sex, which was part of my hesitation to continue our relationship any further before we had a chance to discuss what it meant." He paused, his expression contrite. "I should have told you as soon as I suspected, but—"

"I'm not mad, Draco," Harry interrupted, not wanting Draco to beat himself up for something Harry didn't blame him for in the first place. "We had a lot going on, and we both agreed we'd wait until after the case to talk about what was happening between us."

"Yes, but—"

"No," Harry said firmly. "I'm telling you there's no need to feel guilty. You didn't purposefully initiate the bond, did you?" Draco shook his head, just as Harry had suspected he would. "Exactly," Harry said pointedly. "It wasn't as if I was unaware that mating was a possibility. You told me how the bonds form and that you were unmated."

Draco looked like he wanted to argue, but he nodded hesitantly instead, clearly sensing how useless and counterproductive it would be to try and convince Harry of his guilt. "How—how did you know? About the bond? I wouldn't think you'd be able to sense it yet, as weak as it is right now."

"The fight," Harry replied, a shiver going through him as he remembered Draco, furious and beautiful and bleeding out right in front of him. "When you went _Fury_ and started attacking Mari… I don't know how to explain it, but it was like I could _feel_ you, the magic you were using. I'm guessing you were borrowing some of my magical strength." Draco nodded, looking miserable once again, and Harry rolled his eyes as he continued, "Which I'm _not_ mad about. I had the Healers check me over"—more like the Healers had forcibly checked him over, but he didn't need to tell Draco that part—"afterwards and they didn't see anything wrong with me. No magical or core depletion at all, if that's what you're worried about. Which you _shouldn't_ be, because from what you told me about the Mate bond, that's not how it even works. You're not stealing anything from me. We're boosting one another equally so that we're both capable of greater magic if necessary, yes?"

Draco looked annoyed, as if he wasn't expecting Harry to be so reasonable and was put off by his agreeability. Harry smothered a laugh. "Yes, that is correct," Draco said, almost grudgingly. "But still, I _am_ sorry. Bonding isn't something that should happen without both parties' prior consent."

"That's true," Harry said slowly. "But you're acting like I'm the only one who wasn't given a choice here. _You_ didn't choose this either, and last you said, you didn't even want a Mate." Draco winced, his expression cagey, and hope fluttered in Harry's belly. "Unless that's changed? Because it seems to me that's what we need to figure out here—what are we going to do about the bond?" 

Draco straightened. "Well, there are really only two options," he said, almost dispassionately, as if he had no particular opinion one way or another. "The first would be to have the bond dissolved. It's still only a preliminary bond, so it should be relatively easy and painless. Of course, there's no way to prevent the bond from spontaneously reforming, which it almost certainly would if we were to… continue on as we were."

Harry's brow furrowed as he thought through the implications of Draco's statement. "So what you're saying is, even if we dissolved the bond, if we wanted to say, date, the bond would just reform again anyway?"

Draco nodded, his eyes clouding with pain for a moment before a blankness settled over them once more. "Essentially, yes. We've already proven we have a… strong affinity for one another. Even if we had this bond dissolved, I imagine another would quickly form in its place if we were to continue seeing one another in a non-platonic capacity. Even if we _didn't_ add sex into the equation, a strong enough romantic emotional attachment would inevitably lead to a bond." He frowned, looking genuinely regretful. "Unfortunately, there's no way for me to pause the bonding process once it's been initiated, and I've"—he coughed and blushed, averting his eyes—"my soul has already identified you as a potential Mate. There's no turning back from that. It's all or nothing, I'm afraid. We could still be friends, Auror partners, but nothing more." 

"Okay…" Harry said carefully. He'd already guessed as much, had had time to decide what it was he wanted for himself, and it wasn't that. What he didn't know was what _Draco_ wanted. He thought back to the conversation with Luna and her revelation that Draco had a lot more to lose from a relationship with Harry than he did, his heart heavy. "So that's the nothing option. What's the all?"

Draco blinked. "What?"

"You said there were two options, that it was all or nothing. So what's the other one? What happens if we choose _all_?"

Draco shivered, and Harry didn't think he was imagining the little spark of desire that flickered deep in Draco's pale grey eyes. The sight made Harry's stomach swoop with longing.

"Well," Draco began, licking his lips. "We could choose to… pursue a relationship between us, with the understanding that the bond would continue to grow and strengthen as our relationship did. For me, being a Veela, the bond would stabilise my emotions"—he sniffed dismissively—"not that they're _un_ stable, but it would help, I suppose. And we'd both benefit from the magical boost, not that you need it." Draco smiled at him, his wings fidgeting behind him. Harry stared at him, hard. Draco wasn't being entirely truthful with him again, and Harry wasn't having any more of it. How could he be expected to make a decision about this bond if Draco wouldn't even give him all the facts?

"There's more to it, isn't there?" Harry asked, though it was more a statement than a question. "There's another reason Veela need the bond that you're not telling me about. Something to do with why the Healers were so freaked out about how depleted your core was. It wasn't just from using all that magic against Mari, was it?"

Draco had the decency to look somewhat shame-faced, at least. "It's nothing to do with you, I swear," he protested. "If it had to do with how the bond would affect you, I promise I'd tell you, but…"

"No, no buts!" Harry said firmly. "This bond should be a partnership, and that can't happen if I don't even know what the bond is doing for you. I deserve to know."

"I—" Draco slumped. "I don't want it to influence you, or make you feel like you need to stay in this bond out of obligation."

Harry shivered and pulled the bedsheets more firmly around him. So he was right then. The bond was more than just a nice-to-have for Veela—it was something they _needed_.

"Well, what about you?" Harry shot back. "I'm guessing this Mate bond is pretty vital for a Veela's health, right? So how do I know that _you_ really want the bond at all? That you aren't just going along with it for whatever this reason is?" Hell, Draco hadn't even confirmed if he wanted the bond, regardless, a fact Harry was trying very hard not to focus on. 

Draco let out a heavy sigh. "You know all of the unmated Veela from _Aingeal Tine_ went south for the winter, yes?" Harry nodded, and Draco made a face. "And you've seen how cold I've been, the exhaustion, the way my magic has been weakening. Veela aren't meant to stay in such cold climates—our bodies aren't physically built for it— and the amount of magic it takes to keep us going at these temperatures is more than one core can support long-term." He took a heavy breath and looked rather fixedly at the Christmas tree in the corner before continuing, "The Mate bond—specifically the magical boost it provides—is enough to circumvent that issue."

"So you're saying that without this bond, you'll have to leave Britain for the rest of the winter, or risk going mad like Mari?"

Draco squirmed, his feathers trembling in agitation. "Not in _so_ many words…"

Harry glared. "And what? You thought I'd just leave you to your fate?"

Draco's head whipped around so he could glare right back at him. "The whole reason I never wanted a Mate in the first place was for that exact reason! I don't want to saddle somebody to me who doesn't want to be there. And it would only work for so long, anyway. Without real and genuine affection, the bond will wither away on its own. Maybe we could get through this season with your martyr complex, but not for much longer. There's no point in you suffering out of some misplaced sense of obligation."

Harry growled. "That's not why I'd be doing it! I _like_ you, Draco! Maybe even more than like you. I probably wouldn't have signed up to bond with you so soon under normal circumstances, but we've never been normal, anyway. I—" He broke off, his face flushing from his outburst and the realisation of how much he'd just revealed, but he was in too deep now to stop. "I… I kind of like the idea of the bond, to be honest. Maybe it's too soon, but it doesn't freak me out, the thought of us being connected like that. It's nice. And I'm not ready to give up on us before we've even had a chance to make a proper go of it."

Draco's expression looked torn between hope and reservation. "And what about work?" he said tentatively. "I know how important this programme is to you, and it's important to me, too. What if we don't work out?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm not one for thinking of the ending before even beginning, but if we don't work out, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. The whole point is that our partnership is supposed to be a pilot, and I'd say it's been pretty successful so far. Hopefully successful enough that they'll be able to expand." Harry paused, not wanting to bring up this next point but knowing he had to—he needed Draco to be sure. "I'm more worried about you, to be honest. The papers won't be kind when they find out. A lot of people have moved past the war, but you've been gone long enough to be an interest item, plus you're a Veela…"

"Yes, they'll all claim I used my Allure on you." Draco scowled. "That'll be fun."

Harry winced. "Being with me… I know it would be a lot of work. And you're just settling back here and trying to find your place. I—" He cleared his throat and did his best to sound sincere. "I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to deal with it all. I know you never wanted a Mate, and you shouldn't feel like you have to keep this bond just because I want it."

Draco gave him a fond, incredulous glance, scooting forward on the bed until his knees were touching Harry's through the bedsheets. "Of course I want it," he said softly. "The minute I realised what had happened, that a bond had begun to form between us, I wanted it desperately. I didn't know it would feel like this."

"Are you… are you saying you want to date?" Harry whispered, something about this moment calling for quiet reverence. "To try this relationship for real and let the bond do what it wants?"

Draco hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding. "I want to. If you're sure?"

"I'm sure," Harry said, and then he reached out, threaded his fingers through Draco's hair, and pulled him in for a kiss.

It started off soft and almost gentle, as if they had to relearn one another's mouths now that they were officially _together_ , but the tentative press of lips didn't last long. Soon, the kiss grew deep and heady, Harry's hands gripping Draco's hair, Draco's hands clutching desperately at Harry's back, and Draco's wings—his _wings_ —fluttering and folding around them both, wrapping them up in a cocoon of pillow-soft warmth. 

"Can I…?" Harry trailed off as he pulled away from Draco's mouth, extending a finger towards the wingtip that had settled over Harry's shoulder. Draco nodded, and Harry stroked the feathers gently, marvelling at their softness.

"I wasn't sure how they'd feel," he said breathlessly as his fingers sunk into the downy fronds. "They looked almost sharp when you were fighting Mari."

Draco, for his part, seemed equally breathless, his pupils blown and his body shuddering as Harry stroked and petted him. "They were. When a Veela is in defensive or offensive mode, the edges of the feathers can harden and sharpen like thousands of little blades."

Harry's eyes widened and he snatched his hand away from where it had been buried to the wrist in Draco's feathers. 

Draco laughed. "Don't worry, they're quite harmless right now. Veea are very… protective of their wings. We don't let anybody but our Mates touch them. Even when we're fighting, they're a last-resort weapon."

"Oh," Harry breathed, reaching out again and stroking the large swoop of Draco's right wing. "So nobody's ever touched you like this before?" The idea should not have been as hot as it was.

"No," Draco whispered, his wing pressing up into Harry's touch. "It feels nice. You can… you can press harder, if you'd like. " 

Harry did like, and he dug his fingers into the bones of Draco's wing on the next downward stroke, feathers sliding over his palm like silk. Draco let out a full body shudder, his fair lashes fluttering as his throat released a sweet little trill of pleasure that went straight to Harry's cock.

" _Fuck_ ," Harry breathed, transfixed by the sight of Draco so lost in enjoyment just from Harry stroking his beautiful wings. "Merlin, I want you."

Draco lazily opened his eyes and smiled, and the sight made Harry's breath catch. 

"Do you?" Draco asked, his voice a low purr. "And how do you want me, Harry?" His wing twitched out from under Harry's palm, the pair flaring out behind him in an attractive arch as he preened for his Mate. He pressed Harry back against the bed and loomed over him, looking like some kind of gorgeous avenging angel, all stark beauty and unrestrained power. It made Harry's cock throb and his head spin.

"Oh," Harry breathed. "I want you anyway I can get you."

Draco smiled smugly as his hand trailed down Harry's throat and bare chest, pausing at the waistband of Harry's pants.

"Nothing more specific than that?" he teased. "I do take requests."

Harry looked down at Draco's hand where it rested on his stomach, his gaze lingering on the long, masculine fingers that Harry hadn't been able to stop thinking about pressed up inside him. It had been awhile since the last time he was fucked, but Merlin did he want it now. He wanted to feel Draco within him, wanted to experience everything with Draco.

"You should—" Harry licked his lips and swallowed around a dry throat. "You should fuck me."

Draco's smile turned pleased and self-satisfied, as if Harry had told him exactly what he wanted to hear. Harry hoped so. He wanted Draco to want it just as badly as Harry did.

"I can do that," Draco said softly. "I can _definitely_ do that."

He tugged on the waistband of Harry's pants, and Harry obligingly arched his pelvis up off the bed so that Draco could tug them down and toss them onto the floor, leaving Harry naked and splayed out in front of him. His cock was hard and flushed, already beginning to leak precome against his abdomen under Draco's steady, appreciative gaze. 

"Salazar, you look good enough to eat," Draco murmured as he stared. He held out a hand, and there was the staticky prickle of magic as slick and shiny lube pooled in his palm. Harry's stomach flipped and his arse clenched before he pointedly opened his legs further, giving Draco better access. Draco released a little chirp of approval as he reached out with two wet fingers to pet Harry's arsehole. 

Tingles of pleasure shot through Harry's groin at the touch as Draco stimulated the sensitive nerves around his rim. He'd always had a sensitive arse, a fact he was sure Draco was bound to find out and exploit for both of their pleasure. Soon, a long finger was easing its way inside, stroking lovingly along Harry's inner walls. Harry knew what Draco was looking for, and it didn't take him long to find it. That talented finger slid determinedly over the nub of his prostate, and Harry let out an indecently loud moan, writhing on Draco's finger as he grabbed fistfuls of the bedsheets. 

"You do like this, don't you?" Draco said wonderingly as he slid a second finger inside. There was more of a stretch, a bit of sting, but it quickly faded, leaving only pleasure in its wake. "I mean, I enjoy a good fingering as much as the next bloke, but you really, really love it."

Harry flushed but couldn't deny it. When it came to sex, he pretty much liked it all, and was more than happy to follow his partner's lead with whatever they preferred, but he'd always been a bit of a slut for arse play, both giving and—especially—recieving. 

"Nngg," was his only reply as Draco began rubbing tight, firm circles around his prostate, rendering Harry speechless. Draco's grin was positively predatory.

"Oh, Harry, we're going to have _so_ much fun together."

He paused his relentless assault on Harry's prostate long enough for Harry to glare at him. "We could have fun _now_ if you'd get to fucking me."

Draco's eyes flashed with amusement as the fingers fucking into Harry slowed to a torturously unhurried pace. Harry groaned and wriggled, trying to get them to speed up, but to no avail. 

"Are you not enjoying yourself, Harry?" Draco cooed, the effect even more bird-like with the giant wings looming behind him, not that Harry was complaining. "Or are my fingers not enough?" Another teasing thrust of his fingers, stretching him open but staying away from his sensitive nub. "Do you want my cock? You can have it, if you ask for it."

" _Merlin_ , Draco," Harry moaned as his cock twitched and dripped. He liked this side of Draco, the filthy, demanding, slightly bossy one. Draco had been like this the first time, too, when he'd told Harry he wanted to ride him, and then took his pleasure from Harry's body. Harry had always been attracted to people who knew what they wanted and weren't shy about asking for it, and he wanted nothing more than to be useful in turn, to care for somebody and give them whatever they desired. He could become addicted to the way Draco was looking at him now, like Harry was the most precious thing in the world, like there was nowhere he'd rather be than between Harry's legs, driving him absolutely mad with lust. Draco was giving him so much, and if all he wanted in return was for Harry to give voice to his desires, then he could do that, even if it did make him blush.

"Yeah, Draco," he said, meeting Draco's avid gaze. "I want your cock. Fuck me?"

Draco's entire body quivered, his wings trembling as his throat released a warbling moan. He nodded eagerly, his fingers sliding out of Harry's slick arse as he struggled to push off his pants and release his own throbbing cock. It was a lovely cock, just as mouth-watering as the first time Harry had seen it, and he remembered how perfect it had felt in his hand, thick and firm and warm. Soon, he'd know what it felt like to be split open on it, to feel Draco deep inside his arse. His skin prickled in anticipation.

Draco stroked himself, coating his cock with the leftover Conjured lube. He shuffled forward, nudging the spongy head against Harry's wet rim, and they both shivered as their eyes met.

"Ready?" Draco asked, licking his lips.

Harry nodded, his throat too dry to speak.

Draco pressed inside and the world temporarily went white, Harry's ears ringing and head spinning from the burning discomfort as Draco filled him up. Draco worked himself inside with shallow, persistent thrusts until he was buried to the hilt, his hands petting over Harry's splayed thighs as Harry stared dazedly up at the ceiling. It took a moment to adjust to the full length and girth of Draco, the feel of him even bigger than he'd looked. But with Draco's low, soothing coos filling his ears, the pain quickly began to lessen, until all that was left was a pleasing pressure and fullness and the desire for Draco to _move_.

"Okay," he breathed out. "I'm ready now."

Draco took him at his word, leaning down to press a swift kiss to Harry's lips before pulling slowly out and then gently fucking back in. He took his time building things up and testing them out, seeing which angles made Harry's toes curl and his breath catch. Soon, Draco had built up a head-board-rattling rhythm that caused stars to burst behind Harry's eyes.

He reached up and ran his hands over Draco's chest, rubbing his fingers over the firm muscle and peaked nipples. They were glorious, but what he really wanted was to bury his hands in Draco's wings, which were just out of reach. So he tugged at Draco's shoulders until he was practically lying on top of Harry, his hips still pistoning in and out of Harry's arse, and kissed him deeply. Draco responded with enthusiasm, and it only grew stronger when Harry's hands snaked over Draco's shoulders to rub at the place where his wings sprouted right out of his back. The place must have been sensitive, because Draco moaned into Harry's mouth, his thrusts growing faster and harder as Harry massaged the skin before sliding up and sinking his hands through Draco's feathers, petting at the soft, downy plumes beneath the top layer of firmer feathers. 

"Are you close?" Draco asked as he kissed his way across Harry's cheek and down to his neck, burying his face against Harry's throat.

He was, Harry realised; the pounding of Draco's cock against his prostate and the friction from Draco's stomach against Harry's own cock both more than enough to push him right to the edge. He'd been so distracted by Draco's wings that he'd somehow missed it, but now that Draco had called attention to it, all Harry wanted to do was come.

"Yeah," Harry gasped. "So fucking close."

Draco let out a pleased trill and nipped at Harry's neck as he picked up the pace of this thrusting hips, clearly close himself. They continued rocking together until they both came, Draco's lips on Harry's neck and Harry's hands gripping Draco's wings as he shouted his release. Harry's climax triggered Draco's, and it wasn't long until he spilled inside Harry's arse, panting and shivering in the aftermath.

Afterwards, they curled up together in bed, Draco draped across Harry's chest, his wings settling over them both like a blanket. It felt like a lifetime had passed since Harry had woken up that morning, and it was hard to believe it wasn't even yet noon. He was starting to get hungry, but the last thing he wanted to do was leave this bed. So he contented himself with running a reverent hand over the curve of Draco's wing, watching as it twitched appreciatively beneath his touch.

"You know," he began, almost regretfully. "We really do need to figure out this wing situation. As much as I love them, it's not really practical to have them out forever."

"We?" Draco asked with a raised brow.

Harry flushed. "We're together now, remember? Your feathery problems are my feathery problems."

Draco smiled. "Yes, I suppose you're right. I was planning to write to Aderyn tomorrow, actually, to see if she can help me. There's still more I have to learn about manifesting my various abilities." He made a face. "I spent so much time learning how to hide the talons and beak and wings and _prevent_ them from appearing that I neglected to work on being able to call them at will."

"Do you think she'll help?" Aderyn hardly seemed like their biggest fan.

"Yes, I do, actually. We cleared her Aerie of any wrongdoing, in the end. And now that I have a Mate"—he flashed Harry a wry smile—"I imagine I won't be viewed with _quite_ so much hostility and suspicion."

Harry couldn't stop his giddy smile. He had a _Mate_. Of all the things he'd expected to get out of the pilot programme, a Mate hadn't even been in the vicinity of the list, but he certainly wasn't complaining. 

_No_ , he thought, leaning in for another kiss, _he wasn't complaining at all_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only an epilogue left! <3


	25. Thursday, 25 December 2009

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to those that celebrate!

[ ](https://imgur.com/8n7ANK4)  
[IMAGE: A snow-laden tree branch at night. A snowy Christmas tree  
decorated with multi-coloured lights can be seen in the background.]

_**One Year Later…** _

"I was wondering where you'd snuck off to."

Draco turned from where he'd been looking out over the Burrow's snow-covered garden and towards the open window behind him. Harry was clambouring shakily out of it and onto the rooftop, and Draco reached out a hand to steady him as he collapsed on his arse next to Draco. Draco's Heating Charm was still shimmering around them but he had also Conjured up a blanket, and he untucked an edge so that Harry could scoot in under the additional warmth. Draco let out a contented sigh at the presence of his Mate and draped his left wing around Harry's shoulder, tugging him even closer.

Harry smiled, joining Draco in looking out over the garden in twilight. There was a large Christmas tree in the far corner, its brightly coloured lights glowing beneath a fresh coating of snow. If Draco strained his eyes, he swore he could make out the faint, darting forms of woodland fairies dancing amongst the branches as grubby Garden Gnomes jumped up, trying to catch them. 

"Was it getting to be too much for you?" Harry asked quietly. "I know the Weasleys can be a lot, especially when they're all together, and several cups into Molly's mulled cider at that."

That was certainly true. They'd all come a long way since Draco's first familial introduction, nearly a year ago now, at the Weasley's New Year's Eve Bash. Draco had been reluctant to attend, given how very new his and Harry's relationship had been at that point, but Harry had insisted. It wasn't like they were something casual, after all—they were _Mates_ , and Harry wanted his family to get to know the man, or rather the Veela, that Draco had become. It had been more than a little uncomfortable, but after a steady application of champagne and apologies, there appeared to be some kind of breakthrough, and they'd made a lot of progress over the past year. It wasn't perfect—Fleur was still particularly frosty towards him, despite their shared ancestry, but Draco didn't begrudge her that. Veela were extremely protective of their  
Mates, and Draco was responsible, even if indirectly, for Bill's injuries. It might be water under the bridge for Bill himself, but for his Mate, it was a different story entirely. Even still, miraculously, Draco felt like he was starting to find a place within this loving, boisterous brood, one he was immensely grateful for, even if it did sometimes get to be too much. 

"A little," Draco finally said softly. "I just needed some air."

Harry smiled at him, gentle and understanding. He stroked the feathers tickling Draco's shoulder. "Decided to let the wings out?"

Draco smiled back. "You know Aderyn's been on me to practise manifesting and hiding my various… abilities. I thought I'd go with the wings tonight. That way, if I slip off the roof…"

Harry glared at him. "Don't even joke about that!" 

It had been over a year since the last time Draco was seriously injured, not since their first case together when Draco had gone _Fury_ , but sometimes Harry still got a little nervous about Draco being hurt. It was occasionally annoying since they worked together as Aurors and injuries were almost inevitable, but given Draco's extreme overreaction this past autumn when a loose River Troll managed to clip Harry's shoulder during a battle and sent him soaring into the nearby river, Draco decided he owed Harry some leeway. 

"Sorry," Draco said with a contrite smile. Harry nodded, satisfied, and snuggled against Draco's side. 

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, rubbing a warm, lightly-stubbled cheek against Draco's. "I know this time of year is hard for you."

It _was_ hard—Christmas day, especially—to be surrounded by such warmth, by the entire cheerful Weasley clan, and not be reminded of his own parents, who were so very different, and so very dead. In many ways, they'd been awful people, entitled and selfish, but they were still his parents, and they'd loved him more than anything in the world, with the exception of, perhaps, one another. Christmas had always been the best time of year growing up, and even now, happier than Draco had ever been in his life, he couldn't help but feel a pang of loss: the loss of family, and his friends, and the lifestyle he only seemed to miss this time of year. 

It wasn't even that he missed the riches and the glamorous parties so much as they were so indelibly linked with the warm and happy memories of feeling loved and cherished, with feeling like he _belonged_. He was starting to find some measure of community in Britain now, with the Weasleys, with Cho and Penelope and the rest of their colleagues at work, and even with _Aingeal Tine_ , who more or less considered him an honorary member of their Aerie. He was happy—happier than he could ever remember being—but there would always be that hint of longing nostalgia for his youth, when he and Pansy would stuff themselves full of gingerbread and watch Draco's parents twirl beneath a ceiling of glittering fairy lights.

Perhaps it was finally time to write Pansy a letter, to reach out to all his old school chums. He'd thought it was too late, that too much time had passed… and maybe that was true. But what could it hurt to try? 

"I'm all right," Draco said at last, and he meant it. "Just feeling a little melancholy, but it'll pass." 

Harry's arm squeezed around Draco's waist and he pressed a kiss to Draco's cheek. "Missing your parents?"

Draco nodded, his throat suddenly tight with emotion. Harry had always been ridiculously understanding of Draco's conflicting emotions in regard to his parents. It made Draco a little uncomfortable and ashamed to admit his weakness, to tell Harry—who Lucius had tried to kill on more than one occasion—that sometimes the realisation that his father would never again clasp his shoulder and give him that proud smile would hit Draco out of nowhere, stealing his breath and bringing tears to his eyes. But if anybody understood what it felt like to be an orphan, it was his Mate.

"You're allowed that, you know," Harry murmured. "Love isn't always rational. You can hate them for what they did, for their beliefs, and still care about them."

"I know," Draco whispered into the night. "I just wish I didn't miss them so much. The funny thing is, if they were both alive, my father in Azkaban and my mother in Italy, I don't think I would, really. I probably wouldn't even visit all that often. I only saw my father once in Azkaban before we left, and I moved into my own flat in Italy as soon as I could afford it. It's just, now that they're gone… the fact that I'll never know if maybe they could have changed, if we could have had a better relationship…"

Harry nodded, and his hands moved to scratch soothingly along Draco's wings. 

"I get it. Sometimes I wonder about myself and the Muggles I grew up with." Draco scowled. When Harry had told him about his childhood, Draco had almost gone _Fury_ , and only Harry's soothing presence had prevented him from flying out and hunting them down. Harry smiled and gave Draco another calming pat. "They remind me a lot of your parents, actually. I mean, not quite as murderous, but I think that was really just from lack of opportunity. They were awful to me, and were generally just really mean and horrible people, but my cousin, their son…" Harry looked almost wistful as he dug his fingers into Draco's wings. "They adored him. Doted on him, never made him question for a second that he was loved. In some ways… I'm almost glad they weren't like that with me. Because, as starved as I was for love and affection… if they'd treated me like they'd treated Dudley, I don't think there's a thing in the world I wouldn't have done for them. I'd have probably adopted all their terrible views and come into Hogwarts just as spoiled as you." He gave Draco a friendly jostle and a smile to lessen the sting of his words. "We probably would have been friends."

Draco felt the briefest pang at that, at the thought of what might have been if Harry had taken his hand when they were eleven. But no. Things had worked out exactly the way they were meant to. He wouldn't change any of it.

He jostled Harry back. "I think it all turned out the way it was supposed to."

"Yeah," Harry said with a sigh. "I think so too. The Dursleys didn't want me, but that first day on the train I met Ron, and now I've got the Weasleys, my friends, a job I love, and you." He cupped Draco's cheek, turning his head so their lips could meet for a kiss. "This past year… it's been good, yeah?"

Draco couldn't help but grin giddily back at him. When he came back to Britain, he'd expected to stay for maybe a year at most. Long enough to gain some experience with the British Ministry and _maybe_ scrub out some of the black stain on the Malfoy name. Long enough to put the Manor to rights and sell off his family's legacy. Long enough to get some closure on his past so he could move on with his future. Well, the job experience was coming along nicely; he'd sold off the Manor last month for a tidy profit that he'd immediately donated to charity, and the stain on his name was now more a dark grey than a pitch-black. The media had indeed had a field day when they caught wind that not only was Draco back and working as an Auror, but that he was shacking up with their Saviour. But the fervour had eventually died down, and these days he was more likely to get a neutral nod in the street than a hex, which Draco considered good progress. Give it a few years, and he might even warrant a smile.

"Yes," Draco said, stealing another kiss. "It's been better than good. You make me horribly, ridiculously happy you know."

Harry laughed, though his cheeks flushed with pleasure. "You don't have to sound so put-out about it!"

"It _is_ occasionally very inconvenient."

"Oh?"

Draco nodded, his lips spreading into a wicked smile. "Like now, for instance, when all I can think about is ravishing you on this rooftop. Do you think the Weasleys will notice?"

Harry's eyes grew hot and dark. "They're all downstairs," he said a little breathlessly. "They won't—"

"Harry, mate! Where the bloody hell are you?" Ron's shout rather effectively ruined the mood. "It's time for pudding!"

"You better not be shagging!" was Ginny's helpful addition.

"If you make us wait much longer for Mum's pie we can't be held responsible for our actions!" added George. They sounded like they were growing closer, and Harry let out an exasperated groan. 

Draco sighed. "Raincheck, then?"

Harry flashed him a wry grin. "Molly's pie _is_ pretty damn good. I mean, not as good as your cock, but—"

Draco rolled his eyes as he Vanished the blanket. With a burst of concentration, he felt his wings disappear, though he would have known he was successful by Harry's mournful sigh.

"We should probably hurry downstairs if we don't want to start a riot," he murmured into Harry's ear as he urged him towards the window. "But if you're good, I'll bring the wings out later, once we get home."

Harry grinned, climbing inside the room before looking over his shoulder at Draco. "Promise?"

Draco smiled back, his chest filled with warmth and love and contentment.

"Promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done!!! This was my first time writing and Advent!Fic and BOY was it a wild ride!! It was definitely a different and unique writing experience, and I honestly had a blast posting chapters daily and seeing all of y'all's responses as you read. Thank you _so, so_ much to everybody who read and left kudos and commented, especially to those that were commenting along daily on the chapters as they posted! It really meant so very much to me, and seeing your reactions was absolutely a highlight of my December! I hope you enjoyed this fic and it's conclusion, and I hope you have a marvelous rest of 2019! ♥

**Author's Note:**

> [Kudos ♥] and [Comments] are fabulous! I'd love to hear what you think!
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://gracerene09.tumblr.com/)!


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